#i have never had a multi muse before

[ricochetingtears]

i know i make a lot of promises but i’m slowly going through my drafts/inbox and i might get rid of some things that don’t bring me joy anymore or aren’t going anywhere sooooo like this for a starter because i want new things to help me get my muse back!

[jasnstilnski]

apple scrapping the theatrical release of austins new movie and instead pushing to distribute it via streaming only despite the filmmakers wishes and even though pitt and clooney both put in extra funds to ensure theatrical release..... they are doing this to hurt me specifically

[kurthorton-moving]

oh twitter bookmarks, facebook saved, instagram saved, tiktok bookmarks, tumblr likes, my beloveds (i will never ever open them again)

[milksnake-tea]

━━ to walk amongst the living .

Jade's last words continue to haunt Sunday as he is cast from the heaven of Penacony and goes from a Family Head to a mere traveler. On his journey to fully understand the struggles of mortals, he ends up becoming companions with you, a fellow wanderer.

sunday x gn!reader

contains: post 2.3, written before 2.7, sunday is hinted to have asthma, sunday is trying his best but bro hasn't touched grass in years so he's struggling, hardcore yearning from sunday

word count: 3.1k

a/n: SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL BARKSI RIYGHGUGHU if hyv doesnt give us any crumbs on what he was doing before he runs into us again. EXPLODES

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo , @moineauz

“Achoo!“

The cold was starting to get annoying.

Sunday sighed, biting back his frustration as he wiped his nose with a handkerchief and tugged his scarf to better shield his face. It was a good thing he’d decided to bundle up before leaving Penacony; otherwise, he would’ve already died of pneumonia.

The Planet of Dreams and Festivities was the very definition of a paradise. Everything, from the colors, the sounds, and the temperature was carefully maintained to never be too much or too little.

Sunday did not have such privileges here.

He didn’t remember when the last time he saw snow was. Back home, the closest he’d seen to a natural landscape was the Moment of Oasis, where tourists lounged about on the spectacular beaches - and even then, Sunday hadn’t exactly had time to indulge in such luxuries.

His nose was no doubt red from the cold, and his thighs burned from the long hike he’d decided to torture himself with. Wind battered his hood against his face, occasionally blocking his vision or smacking him. Sunday’s wings instinctively shielded him from the incoming snow that somehow made its way past his hood. He grimaced at the feeling of the ice catching and melting on his feathers, already dreading having to clean them out.

Upon reaching a somewhat flat piece of terrain, he gave himself mercy and allowed himself to stop for a break. His halo, his main weapon against frostbite, glowed gently with a heat not unlike a fireplace as he surveyed just how far he’d traveled.

Mountains upon mountains greeted his gaze, all jagged and covered with the same multi-colored snow that was the staple of this planet. He stood among fallen aurora, and down below, he spied a cluster of bright, warm lights that stood apart from the greens, blues, and purples of the snow: the cities, where he’d first arrived here.

Zastrugi was a planet infamous for its harsh conditions, rivaled only by the recently reintroduced Jarilo-VI. Even so, the people here prided themselves on their resilience, and gladly welcomed those seeking a challenge or a death-defying thrill.

In other words, it was a cemetery of the arrogant and the ambitious, and a perfect fit for Sunday’s current goals. After all, what better way to live a mortal’s life than to endure their struggles?

Sunday looked down at himself. His legs were weak, shaking and trembling from the hike, and no doubt were only kept standing due to adrenaline. His chest burned from haggard breaths, cut again and again from each frosty inhale. His head felt light. He wanted to die.

If this wasn’t suffering, he didn’t know what was.

It was invigorating.

Never before had he felt more alive, with the frost biting at his cheeks and the pain that ransacked his body. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, fighting yet strong and resilient and surviving. A soft smile graced his pale lips as his breath fogged in the air.

How strange, he mused. To find such joy in his own suffering… Was he always this twisted?

“I was wondering when you’d catch up.”

Sunday turned to see you sitting on a rock nearby, snow brushed off of stone so that you could sit without wetting your pants. One of your legs is propped up as you look out at the view, your bored expression proof enough that you’d been sitting there for a while.

You were a fellow traveler he’d met sometime on his travels. Sunday still groaned whenever he remembered your first encounter; he’d gotten swept up in a sudden storm and remembered too late that 1.) he didn’t know how to swim and 2.) his wings were not waterproof. Had you not dove into the raging tide and pulled him out, he would’ve drowned for sure.

Ever since then, you’d accompanied him on his travels - or, rather, he accompanied you on yours. Sunday, with what little he knew of the world outside of Penacony, knew not what his destination was, nor where he should head off to. Your goal was a little more simple - you wanted to see all that was beautiful in the universe.

Even if that meant climbing to the tops of unreasonably steep mountains or camping out in unbearingly hot deserts.

Thankfully, you weren’t opposed to his offer (begging) to join you - on the contrary, you were thankful that he had been the one to say it because in your words, you didn’t know if he would survive if you left him alone by his lonesome.

He still didn’t know what to make of that. For his own pride, he chose to ignore it for the time being.

“Were you waiting long?” he asked, gloved fingers holding the edge of his hood as to keep both it and the snow out of his face. You shook your head, your own hooded cloak flapping in the wind as you looked back out at the view.

“Not as long as I might’ve in the past,” you joked lightly. Sunday breathed a laugh.

Back when he’d first walked alongside you, he’d fought a long and hard battle with his own stamina. It was embarrassing when he thought back on it, how many times he’d have to ask you to stop for a break or even had to be carried by you to the nearest rest stop. Sometimes he wondered why you kept him around, but of course, he never asked.

But he’d grown stronger and more resilient since then, at least, he hoped he did - if not for you, then for his pride.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Your voice was rather wistful as you spoke, a little breathless and hushed, yet clear in the crisp, scarce air. “What do you think? Was it worth it?”

“I’m not so sure,” Sunday tried for a joke of his own - although, he wasn’t all joking. No matter how much he traveled, he could never get used to the feeling of his own breath scraping against his lungs as he heaved for air.

You, intuitive as ever, sighed knowingly. “Sit down. You look as if you’re going to pass out.”

Brushing aside some snow on the rock, you shifted over to make room for him. Gratefully, Sunday fought demons in order to stop his trembling legs from collapsing in from under him as he lowered himself onto the rock. That would’ve been mortifying.

His breath fogged in the air as he sighed, thankful for some rest. Around him, the snowfall was gentle and slow, and as the moonlight from Zastrugi’s two moons caught on each individual flake, ribbons of light came and passed like wisps of smoke.

An echoing click of metal caught his attention. He looked to his side and was greeted with a cloud of steam warming his face. In your hand was a small metal thermos that held what he assumed is either tea or hot water. You gestured for him to take it.

“Drink; you need to warm up before we continue. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died of hypothermia.”

Sunday breathed his gratitude as he took the thermos. Your fingers brushed slightly, but with the cold, he registered it only after it was gone, and by then it was too late to respond. Still, his heart skipped regardless, and he turned away before he dwaddled too long, thankful for the cold that had already reddened his cheeks.

He blew gently on the liquid within, and took small, careful sips as to not burn his tongue (it’d happened before, and it was humiliating). He was delightfully surprised with the subtle floral tastes of white tea, his favorite. It was obvious that it had been sweetened, and the honey added was just enough so that it satisfied his cravings.

But, as Sunday drank away, the tea warming him from the inside, he thought to himself - he never told you he liked white tea specifically, nor did he ever tell you how much sugar he preferred. How did you know?

Had you, every time you’d taken him to a local cafe or restaurant, watched and observed? Had you remembered, from the few times you’d seen him order or make a drink for himself?

His hold on the thermos faltered as fire rushed to his cheeks. In his chest, under all those layers of cloth and cloaks, a dance unfolded, his heart tip-tapping away, a steady rhythm that was both nerve-wrecking and comforting.

Sunday inhaled deeply, wings fluttering ever-so slightly, and pushed his thoughts away to focus on the tea, nearly burning his tongue in the process. You only raised a brow before returning your sight to the distant city. A comfortable silence enveloped the two of you.

As Sunday gazed down upon the scene, a sharp ache in his sides and a stiffness in his legs, he wondered - was this how Robin felt, when she performed from that grand stage of hers. Sure, the aurora couldn’t compare to the lightshow that accompanied his sister’s concerts, but still - there must be some similarities. Here, at the top of this world, he felt light, as if nothing could ever touch him.

“O chosen one, who dared to exceed his bounds. Sever your wings, descend to the mortal realm, and walk their lands. See what this world is truly like.”

Lady Bonajade’s words rang in his head. Instantly a scowl twisted his features.

He’d never liked the IPC, and he wasn’t going to start now - especially not with a snake like her. He could still hear her taunting voice, that indifferent condescention presented as good-natured pity dampening his mood. There wasn’t much that could truly anger him, but it only seemed natural that it was yet another IPC Stoneheart that managed the feat.

But still, she had been right… much to his chagrin. As much as he hated to admit it, he had flown too high from the people he wished to protect. Even the Astral Express - whom he respected far more than Jade - had made it clear: Know your people before you decide what was right for them.

“What’s on your mind?”

Sunday flinched. You peered at him from behind your hood, face gentle yet your brows were furrowed ever so slightly.

“Ah, I apologize.” He lowered the thermos to his lap. “I was… thinking.”

“I know,” you replied. Shifting slightly so that you could lean back on your hands, you stretched your legs out into the snow. “You do that a lot.”

With a kick, you sent the snow flying into an arch off the cliffside, creating another ripple in the aurora.

“Thinking too much in a place like this… seems like a waste, doesn’t it? Try and take a break from your brain, and just- see. Look at where you are.”

Sunday raised an abdominal wing to block the multi-colored snow from falling into his thermos. Shaking the snow off the twilight feathers, he sighed, staring into what remains of the tea.

You clicked your tongue. Snow crunched, and cloth shuffled, before the cap of the thermos blocked his view. Screwing it closed, you took the thermos from him, a twinge of annoyance tugging at Sunday as he mourned the last bits of tea still left in there.

Before Sunday could complain, however, you beat him to it.

“Don’t give me that look,” you teased lightly. “We’re almost to the top - you can finish your tea there.”

The beginnings of a pout tugged his lip, but with a reluctant sigh, Sunday abided. Pushing off of his knees, he brushed himself off.

“Very well,” he relented, but not without fixing you with a flat stare first. If you saw it, you didn’t say anything, for you had already begun your trek to the mountain’s peak.

The higher you climbed, the harsher the snow became. No matter how beautiful something was, Sunday found that he didn’t care if it was pelting him in the face with as much punch as a bullet. His hood became his shield, and he hurried to keep in pace with you.

Because unlike him, who specialized in Imaginary and Quantum manipulation, you were a master of fire. Your footprints lasted longer than his for the mere fact that you seemed to melt through the snow, and as long as Sunday kept close to you, he wouldn’t be at risk into becoming a popsicle.

But that was easier said than done. Again, you were far more traveled than he was, and as such you moved at a much faster pace despite the melting snow’s attempts at slowing you down. Sunday was already dreading the next morning - he’d have to do a full-body stretch for at least half an hour after this was all done if he wanted his legs to be functionable tomorrow.

Every now and then, you would glance back at him, as if making sure he hadn’t been swept up in an avalanche - which, if it weren’t unfortunately a valid concern, would’ve damaged his already ruined ego. And each time, Sunday would meet your gaze, and offer the tiniest of smiles before returning to his suffering.

By the time you had reached the summit, Sunday was well about to pass out. The air was thinner up here, making it hard to breathe, and his exhaustion did not make things easier. But he had done it, and surprisingly, he had kept in pace with you.

He breathed as much as he could, swallowing what little oxygen he could grasp from the top of the world. A wheeze or two ripped through his lungs. Wordlessly, you pressed his inhaler into his hand, a pat on his back to congratulate him. Sunday nodded his thanks.

Once his medication had done its magic and he no longer had to focus on the struggles of breathing properly, he realized that the world had gone silent. Snow no longer pelted at his face, and the aurora had gone dark.

And then he swept his gaze, and saw the clouds below him. Somehow, without noticing, he’d passed through them, and entered an entirely different plane of Zastrugi. Here, there was nothing but sky, and the stars - real, actual stars, not the false ones created by the snow, danced in nebulae above him.

And there was you, your cloak flapping in the wind as you gazed up at the cosmos. With so little light, he could only see your silhouette, but he has the impression that your back is turned towards him.

You are silent, as you always are when you see new sights. In moments like these, it was as if your breath had been stolen, and it is all you could do to absorb the picturesque scene before you, engraving it into your mind to store for all eternity.

Once, Sunday had expected you to take photos of your journeys, as a memento. But you never did. No, rather, you would stand there, memorizing every little detail, and then return to your temporary home to paint it instead.

And he swore, those paintings were almost always more magnificent than the places they were based on.

Sunday took one last look towards the everlasting cosmos before coming up to your side. Rather than the sky, the image he drank in was you. Your expression was soft, yet awe-struck, much like a child seeing the world for the first time. There was always a sort of melancholy in your eyes, but also a love for everything that he could drown in if you allowed him to.

You loved the world, and it was that love that he adored.

You turned to him, noticing his gaze, and for a moment, it was if time itself had stopped. His breath caught in his throat, and words died on his tongue. All he could do was look into your star-speckled gaze, all the colors of the universe casting their light onto the two of you.

What expression was he wearing, he wondered? A smile, or perhaps… something else?

But then you raised your hand, brushing it against his cheek ever so slightly, and all of those thoughts disappeared.

A smile wove onto your lips. “You had some snow left on you.”

Sunday tried not to miss your hand as it left him. His fingers trace what you had left, his gaze becoming lidded.

“Ah,” he breathed.

The corner of yours eyes crinkle, and you turned to the cliffside. Leaning over slightly, you peered over the edge, the clouds obscuring the true height of the fall. Sunday blinked.

“What are you planning…” he sighed, crossing his arms. You chuckled, turning slightly to meet his eyes.

“One way or another, we have to get down,” you pointed out. Sunday’s expression fell flat.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Your feet toed the edge, sending rocks and snow tumbling down. “You said you wanted to experience life as a mortal to the fullest, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t aware that included throwing oneself off a mountain.”

You shook your head, a grin surfacing. “You’re no fun, Sunday. Don’t you have those wings of yours? What do you have to worry about?”

Sunday’s answer was immediate. “You.”

“How sweet of you,” you commented as he came to besides you. “Well, then, you’ll just have to catch me, won’t you?”

Sunday squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. “[Name], I swear upon all that is good in this world-”

He opened his eyes. You were already gone.

Sunday swore.

Midnight unfolded behind his back, clashing with his white cloak. Without so much as a second thought, he dove into the clouds headfirst, shooting through the sky like a meteor as he searched for you.

The second the fog of the clouds leave, however, he was thrust into a world of color. He fell alongside the snow, and unlike when he was on the mountain itself, he became a part of the aurora. The colors nearly blinded him, if not for the fact that he had his sights set on one thing - your falling figure, so close yet so far.

He tucked his wings as to fall faster. The second he reached you, he grabbed you, arms locking around your waist and pulling you into him, where it was safe.

“You’re a fool,” he scolded as your chest met his. You laughed, throwing your head back to return to the aurora.

“And yet, you saved me all the less.”

Sunday rolled his eyes as your legs wrapped around his waist. His wings returned to their full wingspan, catching the wind and ensuring that your fall didn’t end in a tragedy. He swerved and turned and glided, dodging peaks and keeping his sights on the city.

And all the same, you laughed, nothing short of pure glee in your voice.

And he sighed, fondness squeezing him regardless.

Yes, you were a fool.

But you were a fool he couldn’t help but love.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[ghostfacesvalentine]

HALLOWEEN DAY 26: It’s a Halloween party right? - Multi!Muse x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Multimuse x Fem!Reader

Warning: Mentions of basically bullying, cursing, killing, a little graphic but nothing crazy.

Type: Blurb

Request: N/A

Word count: N/A

Prompt: Tiny blurbs of what I think the muses would act when you’re at a Halloween party with them and someone makes fun of your costume!

Notes: Why did anyone stop wearing costumes I hate this new era were in. Grow up. Wear a costume.

Jason Voorhees: Immediately killing. No doubts about that, I take Jason to be a somewhat naive character but he absolutely knows what it’s like to have someone laugh at you. Whether it’s a crude joke or a twisted sense of humor, he can put two and two together, so the party definitely goes from zero to a hundred. I don’t think he would give the other a second to correct themselves or analyze the situation, instead it’s immediate kill, ask questions later. If you ran away crying, it’s overkill and Jason would never give parties a second chance, sorry.

Michael Myers: I think if he understood it, it may take him a while, they have to be obnoxious about it. If they’re laughing and throwing stuff at you, immediately Michael springs into action. There’s so many people who dress like him anyway, there are doubts that he’s even the real thing but some the smarter of the bunch know better than to join in and make a run for it before they get caught in the crosshairs. When everyone is pinned to the walls with kitchen knives and whatever he can find, then the place gets set ablaze, it’s not like he wanted to be there in the first place.

Tiffany Valentine: Picks up on it before you do and when she does she’s coming up with the most embarrassing way to be found dead. She’s trying to be a better person, she really is but why are they laughing at you? Maybe she can give everyone else who gets their hands on the crime scene photos something to laugh about. I don’t think she would give them a second to apologize or make up for it, she’s already had their death made up in her mind. They really fucked with the wrong person.

Billy Loomis: Laughs louder but with empty eyes, these group of kids just signed their death sentence. If you’re sobbing, the more tears you shed, the more blood they will. If you’re only uncomfortable, they’re still dying, maybe not as gory but he’s still taking his time. He gets away with it too, with the help of Stu. “Come on, Stu’s parties are way better than this” he’d kiss your forehead, not caring if there’s glitter sprinkled all over him.

Stu Macher: Kind of grinning, looking at both you and whoever the hell is trying to insult your costume. “Well I think it’s really cool.” He’d say, acting nothing but stupid with a big grin. I think he would have less restraint than Billy though, he’d start getting the strays one by one, coming around acting completely clueless as to what was happening. He’s a little smug with how well he covers up what’s real blood and what’s part of the decorations. Be careful pissing off Stu, you would’ve thought people would know that by now.

Leatherface: Poor baby he would be so confused at first, the groups of people would have to literally be laughing and you’d have to have a visceral reaction to their mean words. As soon as he puts two and two together, its head empty only wants to see their guts across the room. He’s especially violent because he knows what it’s like to be made fun of by his family and by the victims. It’s not a good feeling and he would do anything to make it go away when it came to you.

Patrick Bateman: There would be light chuckles, all the way up until he notices that they’re talking about you. A pressed smile would make itself present across his face, sniffing his drink before setting it down. Swiping his tongue across his perfect front teeth, mouth closed and sticking a fist in his pocket. You insisted to dress up for the silly Halloween party, he was hesitant about allowing you, but you did look stunning in designer clothes as a tacky costume. Patrick would absolutely pull a Stu and lead the others away from the pack, one by one around the building before unleashing the most amount of rage. Spitting and yelling, blood of his victims splattered across his delightful face. “Not the fucking face you fucking fuck.” He’d groan out wiping as much as he could off with his sleeve and trying to slick back his hair as much as possible before moving to the next person.

Harley Quinn: “Whatddaya mean by that?” There would be no hesitation for Harley to have the group try to correct themselves, depending on their reactions would directly affect if and how’d they die. If they would show no remorse, Harleys face would turn into a wide smile, staring blankly at them before shrugging her shoulders then shooting them point blank in the face, one by one. If there was some kind of remorse, Harley would be judge, jury and executioner about it. “Sorry about the blood on yer costume cupcake, maybe Ivy has somethin’ for that! If not her, then maybe kitty Kat.” Nobody makes fun of her baby, if they did, then she’d make sure they wouldn’t laugh about anything ever again.

Poison Ivy: With a raised eyebrow, Pamela would know exactly whether or not how they meant it and if she didn’t, they’re wrong, it’s exactly how Pamela viewed it. You were so excited to wear a costume, Ivy even helped you get it together, you were absolutely over the moon and now, some people who thought they were too good to dress up for Halloween were laughing in front of you both. Similar to Harley, she is judge, jury and executioner. While her methods would be a little more sophisticated, they still inflict the most amount of pain. She always carried something for moments like this, where one’s blood would turn against them, making them feel like there’s venom slowly invading their veins. Maybe a prick, maybe some powder, maybe a kiss, who really would see it coming. Either way, nobody laughs at her baby.

Billy Hargrove: Would stop what he’s doing immediately to look at whoever or whatever group was laughing at you, there would be a moment of silence offered to them to get themselves together. Not many chose to laugh or keep up the act and those who did would get a real beating full of pent up rage. So what if you wanted to wear a costume, so what if you were the only one. That was the point of it no? A halloween party? These people were going to be damn near unconscious by the time he’s done with them.

Steve Harrington: All fun and games until you’re crying. “You guys take it too far!” If you ran out of the room, Steve is chasing after you immediately to console you. You’re drunk, he’s drunk, you’re both a mess but you’re crying and as a great boyfriend, he’s trying to console you. “This party’s lame anyway, let’s get out of here” he’d kiss your forehead, if you’re still pouting he’s more than happy to sit down with you. “I think you’re the prettiest fairy in the whole world. And other worlds too.” He’d wipe the tears off your face, getting a warm towel to help. “Come on. You’re so beautiful, you look amazing, everyone’s costume is a jackass I guess. But I thought we were supposed to be something different for Halloween” he’d roll his eyes, still drunkenly trying to clean you up. He’s such a catch.

Steve Rogers: Concerned eyebrows active. “Hey what did you just say” suddenly no one wants to repeat themselves and if you know anything about captain America is that he absolutely hates bullies. “It’s a Halloween party no?” Suddenly he’s heated, facing the group completely while you make yourself small behind him. Everyone’s on edge enough to try to break it up. He wasn’t surprised they’d be backtracking, but he still doesn’t accept that behavior. “Apologize” “Steve- no it’s okay.” “No. It’s not okay. Apologize” even if they did, god forbid he caught them alone while you weren’t there. “He must’ve felt left out and added some fake blood to his face to fit in.”

Bucky Barnes: Similar to Steve, he’s going to stand up for you, especially when he can tell if it really got to you. All he thinks about was about how excited you were pulling your costume together and now you were crying or about to start crying and hugging yourself wanting more than anything to go home. Bucky has a way shorter temper than Steve though and he doesn’t care if it’s in front of anyone, they’re going to apologize to you without him having to ask. After sorting that out, he’s babying you after all of this.

Loki Laufeyson: Immediately killing them, even if he’s trying to reform his ways, he still can’t stand the thought of someone else’s words humiliating you. If he doesn’t have the patience to outwit them, he’s absolutely going to kill them. You’re his baby and he will always stand up for you, he’s just a little rusty around his methods. “If you ask me, you’re the most beautiful most elegant vampiress in the universes and I’ve been to many” Loki has such a way to always make you feel like the most beautiful and important creature, if it wasn’t his words, you had a hard time believing anyone else. He worships you more than anyone on this list so it’s hard to let anyone make you feel inferior.

Cloud Strife: He doesn’t get it for a moment, not until you’re upset. When he realizes you’re upset, he follows you out. He’s not the best at comforting but when he sees you upset, he’s all over you. “You look beautiful.” He admires you, after all it’s only Clouds picky opinion that you care about. He rather spend the holiday with you instead, he’s not really much of a party guy. Cloud would absolutely wipe your tears, sit in the grass with you, walk around the town all while complimenting your costume every chance he got.

Sebastian Michaelis: Maybe not immediately killing them, but absolutely torturing them, all with a smile. If there are appearances to be made, he waits until he can find them alone. He understood every crude remark, every joke, even when they thought they could get away with it with sly comments. “You appear to be the most stunning character here Lady Y/N.” That’s enough to make you blush, after all he only has eyes for you. He encouraged you to dress up, he wasn’t lying when he said you looked gorgeous. For anyone to have the nerve to make fun of you, it would be a death wish.

Spencer Reid: He would absolutely outwit them, nobody can really keep up with his charm. He didn’t really acknowledge the joke at first, until it hit him. Both of you would be dressed up and he’s more than ready to stand up for you especially. Spencer vents to you all the time about people who think they’re too good to dress up in a costume for a Halloween party. He doesn’t need to get physical with them, but let’s say if they really crossed a line then he’ll pull some strings at the BAU.

Bruce Wayne: So what if you were the only one wearing a costume, similar to Spencer, he can absolutely outwit them. Everyone wants to please Bruce and it only takes him staring at the ones who are laughing with a straight face. The elites around him would want his validation so bad that they would also stop laughing immediately. “I don’t get it. Who are you again? New money?” Hit them where it hurts. “The dress is Hermes, fortunately they had it expedited last minute. We had a few options to sort through. Looks like a dream nevertheless.” But it was never the dress that made you look godly, it was Bruce’s love.

Jason Todd: Immediately getting violent “what the fuck did you just say” and you better hope he misheard them. It’s scary to see Jason get this worked up, but it was for you. Before you know it he’s got another guy hung up against the wall or dragged across the table by the collar of their shirt. He would comfort you afterwards, treating you to whatever you want. “You know you’re the prettiest baby at the party.” If anything they’re better off making fun of you instead of making crude comments about wanting to see what you look like under the costume, I think Jason would have to be locked up in Arkham after that if that were to happen. He’s still pulling strings with the batfam to teach them a lesson.

[blooberrries]

「 extemporaneous 」 — 07 ☾

— pairing: multi; shoto x reader, izuku x reader (so FAR...) — genre: hybrid au, slow burn-ish, reverse harem — wc: 3.4k — rated: nsfw; heavy petting (?) — notes: it has the barest sprinkle of spice. soon we will arrive upon the porn with plot...... soon....... save me

You've never really had much to do with hybrids, existing in your own little bubble for a majority of your life. That comes to an end when your friend phones you for help and somehow you end up taking two hybrids off of her hands while they recuperate in the wake of an unfortunate incident. But when the time comes that they have to leave, will you really want them to go?

⟵prev. || masterlist || next⟶

Recently, the boys have taken to accompanying you on your morning exercises.

The weather is getting cooler, and with it the days shorter, so you’re not particularly opposed. Well, you wouldn’t be anyway because you enjoy spending time with them and there is also no way in hell that you would miss the opportunity to see them work out.

(For scientific reasons, of course. Hybrids are built a little different, after all. You’re definitely not a pervert and any source saying otherwise constitutes defamation.)

You’re on your back, having sprawled on the cool grass around ten minutes ago in an attempt to catch your breath after a run. You might have bitten off more than you could chew by telling them they could set the pace, but you’d sooner stub your own toe than admit the difference in your fitness levels. Thankfully you’ve regained control of your lungs and are no longer heaving, and they appear none the wiser to your momentary health crisis. You are pleased to maintain even scraps of your dignity at this point.

“I like this park.” A voice muses from your left. You allow your head to roll slightly, eyes falling upon the stretched form of the canine hybrid beside you. A breeze rustles the snowy hair that brushes his right cheekbone. “Quiet. Peaceful. Also, quite pretty.”

You hum in agreement; you’re in a meadow-like area that you can reach by following the footpath for a kilometre or so. Trees loom tall on the outskirts, creating verdant walls of green that curl the small sanctuary into their embrace as warmth from the sun pools in the centre and glimmers off the dewy grass. Instead of speaking, you allow a moment for the reply from Izuku that you can feel coming. It enters the air like clockwork barely a second later.

“Isn’t it, Sho?” Izuku tilts his head back, the sun filtering through foliage to paint his skin in swathes of gold. “Plus, it’s nice seeing so many other hybrids come through here every so often.”

Shoto lets out a noise in agreement. In an odd moment of serendipity, a family of hybrids accompanied by a single human emerge from where the path disappears into the treeline in the distance. The child swinging between the two adult hybrids couldn’t be any more than five years old, and the second they lay eyes on the great expanse of grass woven with patches of clovers and wildflowers before them, a delighted peal of laughter rings in the air.

Before you can think twice, your eyes are moving to scan the expressions of your companions in curiosity. From what you recall, an intact family unit isn’t very common for hybrids, though Nejire told you once that it is becoming increasingly the norm. Hybrids from the initial generations, those born in a sterile lab, are now creating families and small communities of their own as the movement for their rights strengthens and gains more traction over time. It makes you happy to see it in action, though a part of you worries that the sight might bring up memories for your companions that aren’t particularly pleasant.

Then again, you have no idea about their backgrounds, really.

Thankfully, the shift in their expressions isn’t sad or melancholy. Rather they appear contemplative, bordering on nostalgic. Curiosity lingers in an unspoken question on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t dare to voice it.

It’s Shoto that volunteers to fill the silence first.

“I wonder if that kid gets lonely,” he muses. “It doesn’t look like they have any siblings.”

You blink, something about the way he says that sparking a new curiosity. “… You had siblings?”

He shrugs, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. He glances at you and then Izuku from the corner of his eye. “Well, maybe not in the typical sense. We were often created in batches, so we definitely weren’t alone.”

“You have company, but in all you don’t get to spend much time with the other hybrids. The adoption process can start young sometimes,” Izuku supplies, shaking his head to dislodge a leaf clinging to his forest-hued curls. “Shoto and I actually ‘grew up’ together, in a way.”

The confusion must be evident on your face, because the rabbit hybrid laughs and reaches out to pinch your cheek. You frown but can’t be bothered to lift your arm and bat him away, and so he remains the unspoken victor.

“I guess you could call it that.” Shoto snorts, reaching up with both arms to stretch. The movement lifts the edge of his shirt to reveal smooth honey-toned skin and you fight for your life to keep your eyes in a respectful location. “I think our labs ended up merging at some point and from then on we kind of got stuck together. Neither of us were ever officially adopted.”

That takes you by surprise, actually. Ignoring how visually stunning they are, both hybrids are pleasant and sweet, sincere in everything they do, and a pleasure to be around. You can safely say the addition of them into your life and routine has been a blessing. So when you take in his words, your brain can’t quite comprehend the idea of someone not wanting them.

A part of your feels bad for them – you know it isn’t the case for all hybrids, but for some of them the act of ‘adoption’ means a lot – but at the same time, you’re unsure whether you would have ever ended up meeting them if they had been adopted earlier in their lives.

It feels selfish, but… deep down, you’re a little glad that you were able to know them as a result of it.

Shoto lowers his arms and twists to face you a little more, eyes surveying your supine form. You have a feeling that he is looking for the best place to curl up and your suspicions are confirmed when he zeroes in on your abdomen and turns back around so he can recline with his head resting on the soft swell of your stomach. You don’t even bother trying not to blush. You’ll just blame the heat of the sun if you need to. Or even the exercise. Plenty of excuses.

“It’s good to see so many kids around,” Izuku hums, blowing some hair out of his face and allowing his eyes to flutter closed after. It’s a slight redirection of the current topic, but you don’t particularly mind. “There’s more than I thought there would be, considering the current ratio.”

This piques your interest further, tickling something familiar in the back of your mind you’d heard once upon a time. “The current ratio…?”

“Of male to female hybrids,” Shoto supplies helpfully in his soft, leisurely tone, turning his head and nuzzling into your abdomen just below your ribs. You have to physically hold down the responding shudder that wants to roll over your body. “It’s pretty disproportionate, currently. Something like one female hybrid for every two –- or is it three? -– male hybrids.” “Oh shit,” you mutter, the words leaving you before you can think to censor yourself. “Tough odds.”

Shoto snorts, and Izuku looks to be fighting a grin. Surprisingly, it is the hybrid currently taking up real estate on your stomach that continues.

“It might look like that,” Shoto hums, his head tilting just enough for his mismatched eyes to trail and lock onto your own. The slightest curl plays around the corner of his mouth. “But we’re pretty adaptive, you know. Most hybrids tend toward polyandry.”

Oh. Oh. Nejire never told you that.

Shoto’s eyes, clear and glimmering in the morning sunlight, track every minute movement and change in your face. His ears flick ever so slightly, no doubt catching the slight uptick in your heartbeat as well as the warmth gathering in your face.

You have to wet your lips in order for your question to greet the air. “Why, um-- is there a reason behind the ratio?”

Izuku hums a pleasant noise, like he’s been quizzed on something that he knows the answer to.

“Men – or in this case, male hybrids – are easier to clone and create than women. Something about having two X chromosomes makes it a little more complicated, if I remember correctly.” Izuku tilts his head, eyes glazing as he falls deeper into his thoughts. “That’s probably why we all ended up having the kind of instincts that we did. Being excessively territorial is detrimental to the population as a whole when one gender greatly outnumbers the other.”

“Plus, more chances for females to conceive when there are multiple--”

“RIGHT, yeah, there’s also that.” Izuku lets out a loud, embarrassed laugh, cutting the canine hybrid off before he can continue. For his benefit, you continue to ignore the heat making itself known on your face and fight to swallow your own amused chortle. You did think it had been a little too long since the last time Shoto said something outrageous with the most unbothered face. The rabbit hybrid continues, almost like he can’t help himself.

“Even so, the bond that a, um… mated pair share is super important. Hybrids have a tendency to bond deeply in general, but I suppose it is doubly so for males. Definitely more matriarchal in nature, hybrid communities.”

Bonds? Mated pairs? You feel kind of faint as your brain works to reconcile all the information you’ve received in the last five minutes. “Huh… I see.”

Izuku suddenly looks oddly restless, almost… nervous .Evidently taking a page out of Shoto’s book, he turns and dives to bury his face in your side, eliciting a ticklish yelp from you as he does so. He ends up pulling on a lock of Shoto’s hair that had fallen over your side by accident, and the hybrid lets loose an unimpressed, low rumble. Ignoring the noise, Izuku takes a few deep breaths against your side, digging his nose into your shirt.

Sincerely, you don’t think you’re going to be able to survive this. You consider sending a prayer heavenward.

As if things weren’t already embarrassing enough for you, your stomach chooses this exact moment to let out a forlorn rumble.

Shoto snorts softly, lifting off of you and rolling to a stand with such grace, you’re genuinely envious for a moment.

“Probably best we head back and get some food in our bellies.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

---------

This is a losing battle.

Granted, it’s not like you’re really fighting it at all anymore (arguably didn’t even really fight it to begin with), but still. It feels like everything is somehow snowballing, in a way that you’re not particularly against despite your better judgement.

Somehow, your two housemates have gotten clingier. They stick to you like shadows, scenting you in an almost possessive manner whenever they get the chance and more than a few times you’ve caught them sniffing you for a whiff of your own scent when they think you’re too occupied to notice.

It’s doing a number on your already frayed self-control.

The brief but very informative conversation the three of you had in the park almost a week ago has helped alleviate some of the guilt you carried for being attracted to both of them at the same time, and also planted some ideas in your head that you haven’t been able to pry out despite your best efforts.

Currently, your dilemma comes from the fact that not only are you attracted to them both, but you like them both.

It’s still budding, not at a catastrophic level as of yet, and technically speaking you would be able to be with them physically without spiralling when they eventually leave. Probably. Actually, you’re torn between not wanting to do anything to save yourself the pain in the long run, and doing something so that you can treasure and make the most of the time you currently have together.

You’d probably regret it if they ended up leaving without you addressing whatever this is between you. However, you also know yourself enough to know you’re too sappy to be able to part with them seamlessly if you did act on it.

This is torture. You almost wish they’d just make the decision for you.

Apart from those differences, the routine the three of you remains mostly unchanged. Unfortunately, that leaves plenty of opportunity for you to overthink and dwell as you complete your bedtime routine. You almost reach for a cheeky drink just so you might put an end to the thoughts and go to bed in peace. Somehow, you manage to imitate meditation enough that you eventually drift off without the need for a nightcap.

Something rouses you from sleep earlier than anticipated, though. The soft creak of your door has you blinking awake, eyes less bleary than anticipated.

It’s pitch black at first, but your eyes quickly adjust enough to see as two figures slink into the room and over to your bed. You feel the mattress dip with their weight as they climb atop, a soft rumble reaching your ears that you know to be coming from a certain canine hybrid.

“What is it?” you ask, wiping your eyes in an attempt to clear any remaining sleep. It’s harder to focus on their forms than you expect. “Is everything okay?”

“Yona.”

It’s a throaty whine that answers your question, timbre no doubt belonging to Izuku. The slimmer of the two slips closer, a hand coming to grasp the one you’d reached out without realising. Your heart stutters in your chest, breath catching in your throat. The smell of pine and jasmine twine together and brush your senses. Of course you’ve smelt whatever cologne your two hybrid roommates wear before, but never so strongly. It’s making butterflies come to life in the pit of your belly.

“What is it?” you ask again, sitting up a little more. Izuku brings your hand to his cheek, nuzzling into your palm. Your fingertips brush his fluffy curls and you find yourself winding them into the locks without a second thought.

While Izuku seems to be sitting back on his haunches for the moment, Shoto has no qualms about approaching further, his large hand brushing against the skin of your shoulder, revealed by sheets that fell when you rose earlier, before trailing down your arm and then back up. His palm settles against your neck, scorchingly hot, and the length of his fingers wrap around your nape. Your heart kicks up again, an excited, frantic patter.

Izuku’s lips press against your palm, searing affection into your flesh. You can hardly keep track of what is happening, attention torn from one to the other in rapid succession.

A soft whine escapes from Shoto this time, and he leans forward to nuzzle his face into your neck, dragging his nose along the line of your jaw. It tickles, and sends a shiver down the length of your spine.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he murmurs, mouth hot against your neck as his lips shape the words. You feel his ears flick and catch against your hair. You want to lift a hand and touch him, but for some reason your body refuses to obey. “Nothing wrong, just need you.”

You feel like your heart has stopped completely in your chest, a breathless moment passing before it returns to its chaotic gallop. You barely have the presence of mind to force out, “What…?”

The hybrid’s lips begin to press in a heated trail down your neck and across your collarbone, ignoring your murmur completely. His free arm slips around your side and behind you, pulling you close quick enough that a soft noise of surprise escapes you. Heat is beginning to set your veins alight, blood turning to magma. Your thighs clench as Shoto’s teeth scrape against your clavicle before he sucks the flesh into his mouth.

Oh my god.

Having moved you closer to the centre of the bed with his manoeuvre, there is now room for Izuku to sidle up against your other side, and he happily takes the opportunity. Your hand is dropped for only a moment before he picks it up again from his new angle, returning it to where it was. He then leans forward, burying his nose into your hair and letting out a contented groan – something he’d done earlier in the day when the three of you had been cuddling on the couch. It had made butterflies burst into your stomach then, but now it makes your body thrum in anticipation.

“You smell so good, Yona, you’re so lovely,” Izuku murmurs, the low cadence of his voice eliciting another shiver across your shoulders. “We want you, need you… don’t you want us too?”

The words leap from your throat, unbidden. “Of course I do.”

A pleased, throaty groan slips from Shoto as his mouth moves lower, towards the neckline of the singlet you’d worn to bed. You weren’t sure what to expect, but it still takes you by surprise when he drags his lips over the material, following the swell of your breast until he comes across your peak, straining against the material. He takes it into the wet heat of his mouth, and you can’t help but gasp at the sensations that reach you through the damp material of your shirt. Arousal shoots straight to your core.

Again, you will your hand to lift and tangle in his hair, but the limb remains by your side. You barely have time to feel the resulting confusion and frustration before Izuku’s free hand is trailing along your side, nails dragging along the skin of your hips and tracing the line of your waistband. The ache beginning to make itself known between your legs is suddenly all you can think about, and this time when you will your hips to shift, rocking up against his hand, they listen.

Izuku inhales softly, sounding pleased at your reaction. You feel like you’re going a little bit insane.

“Yeah? You want us? Want us to touch you, like this?”

Words catch in your throat and so you settle for an emphatic nod, eager for the touching to continue – especially if it meant Shoto was going to keep doing those things with his mouth. As though summoned by the thought, he clamps his teeth around your nipple in a light bite, sending shocks of pleasure over your skin. A moan tumbles from your throat, thighs squeezing in a sad attempt at friction.

You need more. You need more, but your stupid limbs won’t listen to you, and Izuku’s hand is going everywhere but where you need and want it most.

“Izuku,” you whine, the sound bordering on pathetic. You can hardly think amongst the drowsy haze of pleasure fogging your mind. “Please…”

Please touch me, you want to say. Your fingers twitch with the urge to grasp his hand and move it to your core, but they remain woefully unresponsive. Instead of your desired destination, his hand lifts to pinch and tug your neglected nipple softly. He seems to revel in the noises the actions elicit.

Shoto releases your abused nipple with a soft noise, leaning up to nip and lick under your ear. The sweet scent of jasmine threatens to swallow you whole.

“Tell us what you want, lovely,” he murmurs, voice thick and catching in his throat. His teeth scrape your neck and you tilt your head back, wrenching your eyes closed as Izuku times it with a firm pinch.

A rush of different desires overtake you at once, so many you can hardly choose only one to voice. You strain to lift your arm and cup his cheek, willing it desperately to move. “I-”

Your arm jerks, breaking free of its invisible bonds, and your eyes snap open. The room is quiet, save for your panting breaths, and you are entirely under the covers. A cursory glance around the room once your eyes adjust reveals you are, in fact, alone. Your bedroom door is closed, just as you’d left it before going to bed.

It takes a moment for you to be awake enough that realisation comes crashing through you. You just had a wet dream about your housemates.

…. You’re so fucked.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Maybe a drabble in which our Lamb meets Chimaera Reader, the maker of all crowns? Like, he stumbles upon their lair, and sees all types of the crowns, big and small, black and white, one-eyed and two-eyed, etc.? Maybe even a little inter actions between the Reader and the Red Crown in which it recognises them as their maker?

Sorry for my English, it is not my native language-

Also sorry if this request repeats, tumblr May have doubled it-

I swear I'm gonna turn this into an OC one day because I LOVE the concept of a crown maker in the COTL universe

........

'Where am I now..?' Lamb pondered as they stepped into a cavern--one most unfamiliar to them.

It was strange, considering they've scoured nearly every corner of the Old Faith for resources, potential rival cult activity, and even martyrs for the Bishops.

But this area was entirely new to them.

With their weapon drawn, they cautiously ventured further inward, eventually arriving into a larger room that was almost entirely cloaked in darkness. They could barely see a thing even with the few torches scattered around lighting the way.

Then suddenly, they saw a bunch of eyes opening up on all sides of them, varying in shape, size, color, and number. And they just stared down at the little sheep.

While they were accustomed to having so many eyes on them, this was completely different.

These eyes certainly didn't belong to any follower of theirs.

What if this was a trap?

What if-?

"Welcome, little Lamb! Promised liberator of the Old Faith!"

Looking upwards, they could see you descending from the darkness. You looked like a tradition chimera: a lion, goat, dragon, and snake all mixed into one. Both of your heads smiled as you took a seat upon your throne, although you frowned a bit upon realizing how poor the lighting must have been.

"Oh forgive me, it is awful dim in here, isn't it? Hold on one moment." Your lion head breathed out a small blast of fire, aimed towards a nearby candle that lit up.

That set off a chain reaction which lit up dozens of other candles around your lair, and burned the torches bright enough for Lamb to see what all those eyes belonged to:

Crowns.

So many crowns.

Big and small, black and white, one-eyed and two-eyed..and even multi-eyed; some sported horns and some did not. Others had bare surfaces while others were decorated with jewels or marred with scars from time.

It was an astonishing sight, and when Lamb looked back up at you, they could see a crown on each of your heads--snake tail included.

Not to mention your seat was adorned with four familiar ones...

"So you..take crowns from fallen gods?"

"Do I take them?" You repeated, before laughing uproariously. "No, but I can see why you'd assume that. I'm [y/n], Maker of the Crowns."

They blinked. "You created the crowns?"

"I have since the first gods ruled over these lands." You chuckled, taking the Green Crown into your paw. "I mold them into a design of my liking, give them life, and then send them off into the world to find a worthy host. They're like my children, so I do get sentimental at times...but I know they'll do great things."

'Huh...Leshy did say the crown found him..' Lamb mused.

"Of all the ones I've created, though, I never thought to see the Bishops' crowns again. But they were in such terrible condition...falling apart, barely able to keep their eyes open....I couldn't believe it." Your gaze shifted down to the sheep. "You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?"

They tensed. "...well...um-"

"Haha! I only jest, Lamb. I know everything." You smiled reassuringly. "I've sensed strong spikes in their energy, and I'm well aware they've been used as aids for the bishops after Narinder's betrayal. Speaking of whom...."

Pausing, you outstretched your paws towards them. "I see the Red Crown has found a new master."

"It's a long story, but--hey!!" All of the sudden, the Red Crown slipped out of their hands, morphing back into its normal form as it began floating up to you. They were shocked and angered, feeling extremely vulnerable without it. "What are you doing?!"

"Nothing, little one. It came to me all on its own. Welcome home, my darling." With the crown nestled into your paw, your smile grew as its eye stared back up at you with happiness. You sighed and brought it closer to your cheek, allowing it to nuzzle up to you. "Oh how I've missed you, mighty crown of Death. I'm glad you have not forgotten me."

"Give it back!!" Lamb snarled, baring their sharp teeth as they tried storming up to your throne. But their little hooves kept slipping on the skull pile that served as its foundation, and they eventually tumbled downwards, landing on their rear. "I need it back right now!"

"...are they always like this?" You muttered to the Red Crown, who just rolled its pupil in response. "Huh, I thought so. Arrogant, entitled, paranoid....just like your first master-"

"Don't compare us." They scowled. "Narinder was worse than arrogant...he would have destroyed this entire world, along with you and all these crowns if I returned it to him! We are NOTHING alike."

"Hm, I see I've touched a nerve. My apologies. I just wanted to take care of this little chip in its horn." Smiling, you manifested some black ichor to seal the crack you discovered on the crown, before sharpening up its horns a little bit. "There. Much better."

"....thank you. Now may I have it back?" Lamb put their hand out, growing more anxious with each passing second they were separated from it. 'Why isn't it returning to me?"

"It doesn't see why it has to right at this very moment...and quite frankly, I don't either. It's not connected to your lifeforce. You're still standing without it-"

"Because I'm its new master! I gave it new purpose. I gave it freedom...and it should be obeying me unconditionally and I don't understand why it's being so stubborn. That crown wouldn't be anywhere NEAR as powerful if it weren't for-!!"

"Choose your next words carefully," you tutted, shaking your head as you gestured to the walls. "My children do not look it, but they too have ears."

Falling silent, they looked all around, noticing that the crowns were now glaring at them. They tensed up, a feeling of heavy discomfort and embarrassment washing over them as they slowly realized how childish they were acting.

And in front of the crown creator, of all people?

"Tell me..do you see the crown as nothing without you? Or perhaps you feel like you are nothing without the crown?"

"........"

"Your mistake, little lamb, is that you see crowns as simple tools to do your bidding. A conduit for your godhood. But do not forget, they are also living breathing creatures like you and I." You chastised. "As such, they deserve respect. I figured you would've been more grateful to meet their maker...such few have the privilege to enter my lair and receive such a warm welcome."

The Red Crown bobbed up and down in agreement, before it scowled down at Lamb, as though to say "you better listen to them and treat me better".

They just looked at the ground, unable to form words as shame creeped up their spine.

You sighed softly. "I understand your worries as a new god. The mere thought of separation from it drives you to rage, especially after what happened between you and Narinder. But I have no desire to take it from you. Not when you've fought so hard for it. All I wish is that you continue caring for it."

"....I'm sorry, Great Crown Maker.." Lamb muttered, finally letting themselves be humbled. "I don't mean to act like I did. It's just...he's been annoying me all day today, shouting about "divine right" and making my life a living hell. He still can't accept that it chose me over him.."

They felt the familiar and comforting weight of the Red Crown returning to the wool atop their head, but they only looked up at you with respect. "Thank you."

"Of course, young one." You nodded, smiling once more. "Narinder has possessed that crown since he was a wee little kit, so it's going to be quite a long time before he lets that grudge go. Perhaps in a hundred years, give or take."

"I understand...so.." Lamb looked around. "Do you have any wares?"

"Oh, plenty!" You clapped your paws together. "Feel free to take a gander! Since this is your first visit, you may have one of the tarot cards over there on the house. But just know that the crowns aren't for sale."

[dystopicjumpsuit]

afesfefesfa i've not been doing the scrolling i normally would thanks to technology and the dash repeating the some posts on repeat for five minutes making it extraordinarily tedious so I had no idea your requests were open for the cuddle prompts until i scroled your blog, but! may I ask for 30, soft looks whilst cuddling (i have adlibbed the prompt i think?) with my beloved Rex?

Because I can never get enough of him <3

@eternal-transcience

A/N: Thank you for the request, Kim! I hope I was able to capture the softness you were looking for 💙

Pairing: Rex x Reader (GN, has hair long enough to tangle)

Rating: G (but as always, minors DNI)

Wordcount: 332 (yes, I did that on purpose)

Warnings and tags: fluff, cuddles, forehead kisses

Summary: You and Rex see things differently, so you try a different perspective.

Suggested Listening: 

This fic smells like: Alpine Vert by Gloss Moderne

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“I don't see it,” Rex said, his voice rumbling beneath you. He toyed absentmindedly with your hair as you lay perpendicular to him with your head resting on his stomach.

“How can you not see it? It's right there!” you insisted.

“Maybe it's the angle,” he suggested. “Come up here and show me.”

You sat up and stretched luxuriously, enjoying the sunshine. The back of your shirt was damp with dew from the grass as you rose, and it clung to your skin, cooling rapidly in the breeze. After weeks of the monotonous gray durasteel walls of a starship, you’d leapt at the chance to spend some time planetside.

White plastoid littered the ground around you: the top half of Rex’s armor, discarded when you reached the top of the hill where you’d lured him with the promise of a picnic—if a meal of ration bars and stale canteen water counted as a picnic (Rex insisted it did). You crawled closer to him and flopped back down in the grass, this time lying next to him with your head on his shoulder.

“See?” You pointed at the sky. “There's its head, and there's its back legs, tail, and front paws.”

He dropped a light kiss against your temple before replying, “I don't know how you can possibly look at that cloud and see a nexu wearing spectacles, walking on its back legs, while reading a holonovel.”

“Well, what do you see?” you demanded, tilting your head to look up at him.

He watched you, his eyes soft. “Someone with a better imagination than me.”

“That's not true,” you objected.

He smiled and continued as though you hadn't spoken. “Someone with a head full of stories and hair full of grass.” He reached up and plucked a blade of grass from your tangled locks, then wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to himself. “My favorite person in the galaxy.”

Well, you mused. How am I supposed to argue with that?

---

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Need a hit of Rex spice? I gotchu.

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[hereticpriest]

Muse

Fandom: Rush

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Niki Lauda x reader

Warnings: Some time period typical misogyny, heavy flirting, rough sex, semi-public handjob, road head, semi-public blowjob, oral (m and f receiving), deep-throating, face-fucking, vaginal fingering, soft femdom, soft bondage, switch Niki, switch reader, cum-eating, cum as lube, use of protection (condoms, birth control pills), lack of protection, pull-out method, possessive Niki, enthusiastic consent, consensual somnophilia, consensual free use, woman on top, mating press, breeding kink resulting in pregnancy.

Only a favour could ever get you onto one of these hellspawn racetracks. Only Tony fucking Olsworth, your oldest friend in the world, your biggest mentor, and the man who first helped you sell your photographs to some of the most prestigious newspapers across the world could get you to the Argentina Grand Prix. He was the first person to ever see you for who you were and what you could do, and believe in the success of both. Talent recognizes talent, afterall. Tony saw you, saw how good your eye was, and helped you get to where you were today. So, of course, when he broke his arm and bruised a couple of ribs in an accident and couldn’t fulfil a contract for photographs of the first Formula One race of the 1975 season, he knew exactly who to call. The only person in the world he would trust to take over for him, despite never having done any photography for driving.

You were fresh off of taking some award-winning photos for the MLB World Series in October, followed by a month of chasing insane assholes around the world while they did nonsense like free-climbing and hang gliding. Despite not being your usual niche, National Geographic paid quite a bit for the photographs along with your colleague Miguel Amalia’s multi-page spread article. You’d been hoping for a bit of a break before the start of the new year - plenty of sports took place in the early half of the year, and you had plans to be at the best of the best. You were going to go to the spa, pamper yourself, maybe even go to a few galleries.

Until Tony.

“Look at you, doll! You look wonderful. Not at all like you’ve been scrambling up mountains god knows where and camping in the wilderness. And look at you now, in beautiful Argentina, at the start of the season of the best sport in the world!” The older man cheers at the sight of you, champagne in one hand, the other in a cast from wrist to shoulder. You don’t know how he could possibly be so happy considering his broken arm and bruised ribs, but Tony’s always been a strange one. Despite not having to be here, and having you as his official replacement, he still showed up, his white-blond hair perfectly coiffed back to show off a round, cheerful face. The crows feet around his hazel eyes wrinkle further as he offers you a pearly-white, toothy smile, and you can’t help but smile at his jolly face. He’s here both to show you around, and because he hadn’t missed a Formula One race in years. He was a fan as well as a photographer.

“You’re delusional, Tony, honey, you must be getting sunstroke. There are far more entertaining sports out there where two people don’t die per season.” You retort, walking with him as he leads you through the facility and explains the different teams to you. He’s dressed for the warm weather in a salmon shirt and khaki shorts, the material breezy and loose for good air flow. You’re only half listening if you’re being perfectly honest, distracted by the sights of drivers and mechanics scurrying around cars. If nothing else, the colours will pop well in photographs.

“I want you to see the qualifying races so you can understand some of this a little better, and get the timing down. It’s a good time to get to know the drivers as well. Brabham are the ones to watch this year, you just wait and see.” Tony explains, and you hum noncommittally, “Carlos Reutemann and Carlos Pace. Argentina and Brazil respectively. This is Reutemann’s home Grand Prix.”

You nod along with Tony, looking at the drivers he points out, until he gets called away by a reporter he knows for a quick chat. He tries to bring you along, but you excuse yourself from the conversation, wandering instead. One thing you can say for Formula One in comparison to other sports is that the drivers are very different from other athletes. It’s nice to see some variation for once, though you notice throughout the drivers themselves a somewhat similar aesthetic cropping up. From a distance, you notice a dark blond, delightfully curly-haired man in a red racing suit with rather striking features. Eyes a piercing blue, a fairly obvious overbite that pushes his upper lip out in an endearing manner and makes his chin look somewhat weak in comparison, and gorgeous facial structure. Statuesque, almost, like he should’ve been sculpted from marble. He’s thin, and not particularly tall as is typical of drivers, but he looks almost soft in a way that appeals to you.

Not stereotypically pretty, certainly, but interesting. And isn’t that what you crave most of all? Some small spark in this drab, grey world of people who all seem to always try and look exactly alike? Isn’t that why you refused to go into advertising photography despite the good pay and the many offers you received? So many people nip and tuck away their unique features that would make them interesting. Crooked teeth or gaps, freckles and moles, big or crooked noses, strong brows, weak chins, sallow cheeks, belly fat or loose skin. All of it is so much more compelling than symmetry or median appearances. You loathe being bored, and frankly, you find a certain boringness in attractiveness. That’s why you let your passion (and fear, frankly) drag you up the sides of mountains, to countless countries all across the world, even in the worst weather imaginable. That’s why despite disliking extreme sports, you still accept contracts to photograph them, accepting the risk to both the athletes and yourself. You’re only human, and a selfish one at that.

Your camera is in your hands before you even notice what you’re doing, and you steady yourself carefully, adjusting your settings to account for the bright day and distance. The man, whoever he is, pushes his hair out of his eyes as he examines his car, and you grin as you get a rather lovely shot of him laughing at something a nearby mechanic says to him. He turns slightly and you notice his suit is undone to the waist, exposing his lovely tummy and a delicious amount of body hair that you can’t help but snap a photo of. You’re completely in the zone, oblivious to the world around you when Tony steps up beside you.

“Ahh, I see you’ve met our King Rat.” Your mentor hums pleasantly, and you blink, lowering the camera so you can peer at him in stunned confusion.

“The who?” You ask, figuring you’ve misheard him. Tony raises his eyebrows at you like he thinks you might be a bit daft, then gestures with his champagne glass widely towards the man you’ve instinctively locked in on.

“Niki Lauda, darling. He’s a driver for Ferrari, with Clay Regazzoni as his teammate. The dark-haired chap with the ‘stache. They call Lauda the Austrian Rat.” Tony explains, then gestures towards his mouth with a grimace, “You know, his unfortunate… well, overbite situation.”

Your head tilts, and you stare blankly at your oldest friend for several moments before looking around you at the rest of the people at the Grand Prix. Press, drivers, officials, mechanics and countless other people involved in making Formula One run smoothly. Countless people who must be intelligent to be able to keep this all running with minimal hiccups.

“All of them? Call him this?” You clarify, and Tony must register your shock for he clears his throat a little and looks mildly ashamed of himself.

“Well, yes, it’s not a very kind nickname but it is extremely common… unfortunately, of course. Poor chap probably doesn’t deserve it, even if he is known to be a bit of an asshole.”

You look around again, then lift your camera to peer at who you now know to be Niki Lauda, finding him frowning at a man in a similarly vibrant red racing suit to his. Clay Regazzoni, then, you put together the obvious context clues - the man certainly has a well-groomed moustache. Even with an unimpressed look on his face, Lauda is still striking, and you snap another photo of him leaning into the seat of the car to examine something before looking at Tony again.

“Is everyone in this horrid sport brainless? I’ve met more intelligent boxers, and they get punched in the face for a living.” You muse, and Tony laughs into his champagne, spluttering as he chokes on it.

“I think the point is for them to not get punched in the head, my dear.” He corrects you, and you roll your eyes. As you go back to your camera, Tony observes you, finishing off his glass, “Are you intending on taking photos of anyone other than the rat today?”

You scoff, taking a picture of the two Ferrari drivers together talking over their cars, gesturing somewhat animatedly, “Certainly, the moment one of them does anything even remotely interesting.”

Tony peers around the garages as if looking for something to contradict your blatant disinterest with, then follows your gaze.

“So, Niki Lauda standing still, talking to his teammate while gazing wistfully at his car is more interesting than any of the other drivers who might be doing the same thing?” Tony asks, and you can tell that he’s trying to make a point, but you’re not really interested in hearing him out when you know what he’s going to say.

“He’s actually compelling to look at, so yes.” You retort, and Tony exhales a laugh, fondness and amusement mixing with his annoyance to soften it nearly entirely.

“Alright, darling, take some photos of the other teams so you have at least something to sell that isn’t a photo of Lauda. Take some pictures of the Brabham team, maybe that handsome young Hunt chap that everyone is so riled up about, and then you can go back to stalking the Ferrari garage. At least you’ve found something to keep your interest in the races - I was a little nervous I might have to bribe you into paying attention.”

It’s good advice, and you know you’re meant to be taking photos for Tony, but it takes genuine effort to rip your gaze away from the Austrian driver. Tony leads you towards the Brabham area, and you obediently take several good photos of both Pace and Reutemann. Tony even takes the time to introduce you to them, and you pretend to listen while they discuss Tony’s injury. They’re nice enough, though you can blatantly tell that they’re only indulging you because you’re a woman.

This is a trend that repeats several times. Tony leads you from garage to garage, and most of the drivers are either nice enough to pose for photos, let you take candids, or tell you to stay out of their way. You’re not offended by the brusqueness. They’re preparing for a Grand Prix qualifier. Tony might not mind bothering the drivers while they’re obviously busy, but he has a relationship with most of these men. He’s known them for years.

As you meander your way through, Tony tells you which drivers will likely hit on you, preparing you so you’re not shocked. He even indicates a couple he doesn’t recommend being alone with for any length of time, though he tells you that’s for your comfort and not because he truly believes you’d be in any real danger. You’re pleased to find neither Ferrari driver on either of those lists.The Hesketh garage is abuzz as you approach it, and you raise an eyebrow sceptically at Tony, who leans in to your ear.

“James Hunt is the driver they’re all interested in. He has a lively fanbase, with a high female audience. Handsome, charming… Tall, even, for Formula One.” Tony muses, and you spot the blond in question. He’s stereotypically handsome, certainly. Blue eyes, long blond shaggy hair that looks well-maintained and soft, and enough muscle that he probably looks a little funny getting into one of those tiny Formula One cars paired with his height. His smile is wide and suave revealing nice, white teeth. Tony hasn’t met Hunt yet, but he leads you through the crowd and introduces you to a couple of mechanics he knows. Eventually, James catches your eye, and his smile reaches his eyes as he marches over. He greets Tony in a friendly way, clearly knowing him by reputation even if they haven’t met, a hand clapped gently on his cast. He expresses seemingly sincere regrets that Tony won’t be able to take photos of the race, but Tony reminds him that that simply means he gets to relax and enjoy it while you do all the work, directing the blond’s attention towards you.

“And who might this be?” Hunt asks, holding out his hand for you. When you take it to give him a handshake, he rotates it to kiss the back of your hand, and you snort.

“This work for you often, Mr. Hunt?” You ask, gently pulling your hand free and introducing yourself. He doesn’t seem put off by your dismissal of his attentions. If anything, he takes it in stride, immediately taking the clear no and getting back to business. He’s an agreeable man, letting you take all the photos you want, though you notice he struggles with letting you take candids. His awareness of the camera is almost preternatural, and you have to be particularly careful about staying out of his eyeline to get anything you’re particularly happy with. It’s a common issue - if people know you’re taking photos, they want to look their best. You don’t blame him.

Finally, Tony leads you back towards the Ferrari garage, and you sigh with relief that you won’t be wasting your entire roll of film. He keeps walking, though, closer and closer until you’re just outside of the barriers. You freeze up, snapping at Tony that you don’t want to meet this team, but he grins widely at you, his hand like a vice around your wrist.

“Come along, darling, don’t be impolite.” He teases, and you barely refrain from hissing at him like a child.

“Clay, my friend! I’ve come to wish you good luck, and introduce you to my colleague.” Tony says loudly as he approaches, and you barely wiggle your hand free before the moustached driver walks over with a friendly smile. He hugs Tony, slapping him on the back gently, then holding his cast.

“What is this? I was hoping the news about your accident was wrong.”

“I know, I know, a tragedy. I won’t be able to make you look good for once. Luckily, I brought along a dear friend who will hopefully do you justice.” Tony gestures to you, and you hold out your hand to Clay as you introduce yourself. He doesn’t try to kiss your knuckles, though you see the instinct flash in his eyes before he thinks better of it. You like him more just for that.

“A pleasure to meet you. I look best from the left, remember that.” Clay teases, and you can’t help but laugh. He’s pretty charming, in a different way than Hunt was, “Have you met Niki yet? Niki! Come socialise, it’s good for you.”

You stiffen at Tony’s side. You always hate meeting your muses for the first time, hesitant to have their allure ruined the minute they open their mouth. The Austrian driver steps out of the garage, a bottle of water in hand which he drinks from as he approaches. He looks as hesitant to meet you as you are to meet him. A certain shyness takes him over, and you examine him curiously, since he didn’t seem to have any issues with his teammate or mechanics earlier. Tony reaches out to greet Niki and introduces himself, then claps you on the back and pushes you forwards.

“My friend here will be subbing in for me, taking pictures of the race so that I don’t get a slap on the wrist. This is her first Formula One race, but she’s an accomplished sports photographer, so I think she’ll manage just fine.” Tony gives your shoulder a little shake, and you hold out your hand to Niki, who seems to hesitate for a moment before he takes your hand to brush his lips across your knuckles with the tiniest hint of a bow. Your cheeks are on fire, and you hope it isn’t obvious - you are a grown adult woman and you are not going to get flustered over a driver. And if you do, you’re going to hide it as best as you can. You freeze in place, not pulling your hand away until he drops it, and you squeeze your thighs together in a way you hope isn’t too obvious.

“A pleasure.” Niki says, and his accent is thick like molasses, sending a shiver up your spine. You smile at him, introducing yourself and trying not to wilt under Clay’s intense, almost knowing scrutiny. This is why you hate meeting your muses - you always feel so self-conscious, as if every act is under scrutiny. It doesn’t help that you’re actually attracted to this muse. Normally, it’s a platonic appreciation for someone’s form or the way they move, but Niki Lauda was a case of his own and you had to admit it, at least to yourself.

You wonder briefly if he has a girlfriend, and if he’s one of those athletes that tends to plough their way through their fans. You don’t notice a ring, but you know that that doesn’t mean anything in sports - rings interfere in many sports, and plenty of athletes don’t wear them even if they’re happily engaged in a committed monogamous marriage. You’d ask Tony, but you’re sure he’d make you regret it. 

“Not to worry, Niki, she won’t be hounding you for candids. I think she’s already got nearly a whole film roll of them by now.” Tony muses, and your eyes go wide as saucers while Niki simply looks confused.

“Tony.” You say warningly, but he ignores you.

“Perhaps she’ll spare a bit of her film for the other drivers.” He teases you, nudging your arm, and you grab Tony by his ear, earning a yelp from him.

“Excuse me, please.” You mutter to Clay and Niki, dragging Tony only a few feet away before giving him a gentle smack to his good arm.

“You’re going to make him think you’re making fun of him, not making fun of me, Tony. It’s rude. I can take a good ribbing, but you will NOT make other people uncomfortable to embarrass me, are we clear? Or I will walk off this track and you can find someone else to take these race photos for you. Am I understood?” You scold him, finger jabbing into his chest, and he looks suitably apologetic.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” Tony admits, and you jab him one more time.

“Of course you didn’t. Tease me all you like, but don’t involve other people in it. All you lot call him a rat - he doesn’t know that I think you’re all a bunch of idiots. He probably thinks I was making fun of him as well.” You put your hands on your hips, huffing at Tony while he apologises. You walk back over to the barrier, offering Niki what you hope is a sincere and reassuring smile.

“You’ll do well in your race. I won’t say good luck, since you don’t need it.” You inform him, then grin cheekily and wink at Clay.

“Good luck.” You tease as you wave at them and start to walk away, “Bye boys. Enjoy your race thing.”

~

Tony apologises to Niki once you’re out of earshot, and Clay grins widely at his teammate, nudging him a couple of times, seemingly thrilled with this new development. 

“You’ve got an admirer.” Clay informs him, and Niki scoffs, watching you walk away. He observes in silence as you crouch, snapping a couple of photos of another driver before he finally tears his gaze away. Clay claps him on the back and turns to Tony.

“So, she was taking pictures of Niki?” Clay presses, and Tony glances at you as if to make sure you’re far enough away before he agrees.

“She likes people with interesting features. She finds a lot of people… well, boring, I suppose. She told me once that I’d look boring too if my cheeks weren’t so round.” Tony admits, and Clay snorts, “when we got here, she took notice of Mr. Lauda over here. I’ll admit, she doesn’t usually like meeting people she finds interesting like that, so I brought her over here to tease her a little.”

Niki looks away from Tony, watching you as you walk towards the press area, pausing briefly to snap a couple of photos of seemingly random things. He’s soon knocked out of his thoughts by Clay bumping him on the arm as Tony departs, and he says a quick goodbye before heading into the garage to get his head in the game.

~

The walk back towards the press ring is long, and you stop several times to take photos along the way, several of which you think might just earn you a pretty penny. You crouch to take a photo of a neighbouring driver from below, highlighting him against the sun in a way that you think could be beautiful. Thank god you wore bell bottoms today instead of a skirt - you’d never be able to get these kinds of shots without flashing someone.

Tony rejoins you soon enough, a little subdued, though he snaps out of it when you tell him you’re actually kind of enjoying yourself. He promises that by the end of the first Grand Prix, you’ll be hooked, and begging him to take you along for the rest of the season. You remind him that you have a strict ‘no begging’ policy, and that you’d just get your own contract if you really wanted to stick around. Tony isn’t bothered, of course, just thrilled to have you interested in his favourite sport. He gives you earplugs, and you both watch the qualifiers, with Tony pointing out tips and tricks for getting good photos. He doesn’t even tease you when it becomes clear that your best ones are of Lauda, though you know it isn’t the last you’ve heard on that matter.

With the qualifiers finished and pole position set, you depart from the track with Tony and head for the dark room you’ve rented space in near your hotel. You spend a good few hours there, but by the end of it, you’ve got several pieces you just know are going to make you a hell of a lot of money, aside from just what you’re getting from Tony. You secure your film and developed photographs, and spend the rest of your evening on the phone with a couple of your contacts, selling your photographs and earning yourself a paid trip around the world following the Formula One races.

You send off several photos to a couple of publications via express mail early the next morning on your way to the track, though your spirits are dampened by the fact that Tony left a message at the front desk for you - he’s sick, and he won’t be able to come to the race today. You have no goddamn clue how you’ll find your way around despite being there just yesterday, but you suck it up, putting on a rather lovely cream button-up shirt dress with a belted waist, suitable heels that you can walk in, and over-sized sunglasses.

You’re early to the track simply because you had to leave so early to get your mail out, and plenty of the drivers aren’t there yet. You slip out of the taxi and, admittedly, meander around for a little while trying to refamiliarize yourself. The track is busier today, even this early, and you find yourself just a little lost without Tony there to guide you. Maybe you should’ve paid more attention when he was showing you around yesterday, but how were you supposed to know he was going to get sick? The man HATED missing even a single race.

“Hey!”

You nearly jump out of your skin as a loud, familiar voice calls out to you, accent thick and instantly recognizable. You freeze like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar despite knowing full well that you’re allowed to be here, and you swear you hear the faintest chuckle from the Austrian driver. And they called him ‘cold and serious’ in the articles you read about his unique start in Formula One last season. 

“Hello Niki.” You hum as you turn to face him, pushing your sunglasses up to rest on top of your head. He’s dressed in a short sleeve button-up shirt the same colour as his eyes, and jeans that you struggle to hide your appreciation for. It’s a simple outfit, but something about seeing him out of his racing suit is attractive. His pretty dark blond hair is pushed back out of his face, curls thankfully not brushed out, and he looks hesitant to be approaching you. You almost wish you kept the sunglasses on so you could eye him up without it being so obvious.

“You’re lost.” He accuses, and you laugh, shrugging your shoulders sheepishly.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes. You’ve been walking around aimlessly.” Niki retorts, and you snicker at his bluntness, stepping closer to him with a warm smile.

“Help a girl out? I wasn’t paying much attention to Tony’s tour yesterday, and I can’t remember where I’m supposed to be.” You offer the driver your best doe eyes, and it only takes him a moment of consideration before he closes the distance between you and offers you his arm. It’s a dash old-fashioned, but you let him play the gentleman, gripping his bicep in your hand and pressing into his side. He leads you towards the track at an even pace, casual and unhurried, and you admittedly find yourself appreciating his gentlemanly behaviour as you hold his elbow and his bicep presses against your breasts.

“Clay told me that you’re helping the man from yesterday. That you don’t normally take photos for Formula One.” Niki comments, and you agree quietly, “You don’t enjoy the sport.”

You laugh, pleasantly surprised by his straightforwardness and unable to help the fondness bubbling in your gut. You don’t try to lie to him to save face. You wish more people would just say what they meant.

“No, I don’t. You risk your lives for very little reward. Frankly, I think it’s unnecessary, and I prefer sports where I don’t have to be terrified that I’m going to watch someone I’ve taken pictures of die in a horrific accident.” You reply honestly, “however, I’ve been taking photos of more extreme sports lately, and while I still think it’s stupid, I have taken some very beautiful pictures. So perhaps it is not all bad.”

Niki is quiet for a moment, and a quick glance tells you he’s thinking about what you said rather than ignoring you. His arm flexes under your hand, and you give him a gentle squeeze, instinctively trying for soothing.

“There is a limit to the risk I accept. But what would life be like if we only did what was necessary?” Niki asks, and you hum thoughtfully, considering that as you walk with him. You examine his face from the side, trusting him implicitly not to lead you astray, and wish you could get your camera out and snap a photo of him from your current angle. It’s a very nice view. From this perspective, you wonder how anyone could ever call him a rat.

“Boring.” You decide, and you see a hint of a smile tug at his lips, a flash of white teeth peeking out. You grin, proud of the reaction you’ve earned yourself, and finally tune into your surroundings only to find yourself approaching the Ferrari garage, “Niki, dear, have you kidnapped me without me even realising?”

The Austrian driver cracks another smile at that, shaking his head as he leads you into the garage, not bothering to answer your teasing. Several mechanics look up at you with a hint of impressed confusion before getting back to their work, and Niki pulls out a chair for you, so you finally release his arm. You put your camera bags on the table to get them out of your way, then sit at the table with a wide smile.

“You’re early for the race. If you would rather wait out with the press and get a sunburn, go ahead.”

“Well, aren’t you thoughtful?” You coo, and he doesn’t answer you, looking hesitant once again. You dig through your bag, pulling out a stiff manila envelope filled with cardboard backing to protect its contents from bending, and hand it to the driver, “One of my favourite photos from yesterday. I hoped you might like it.”

Niki looks at the envelope but doesn’t open it, and you smile at his obvious shyness.

“I’m sure you’ve got to go get changed, right? I’ll wait right here. And I won’t snoop or anything. Your boys will keep me honest, won’t you, boys?” You ask the mechanics, one of whom laughs and mutters something under his breath that you’re sure isn’t appropriate, though it doesn’t sound malicious. You let it be, certain you’ve heard worse, and Niki looks hesitant to leave you alone but eventually begins to back away.

“I won’t be long.” He promises, and you smile pleasantly, waggling your fingers at him. Some of the mechanics keep looking at you, but you keep your pleasant expression, sitting pretty as you wait. You know that teams can be pretty tight-lipped about their secrets, so you keep to yourself to avoid the semblance of being nosy or trying to find a story. You’re not a journalist anyways, you’re a photographer. You don’t really care about their trade secrets.

“Well, well, well, look at who I’ve found.”

You turn in your seat to grin at James Hunt as he enters the Ferrari garage, nodding to the mechanics, then looking around quickly as if searching for his friend and rival.

“Hello James. Niki’s just getting changed.” You inform him, getting up to shake his hand, pleased when he doesn’t try to kiss it again.

“Ahh, he is, is he? Did he give you a ride this morning?” James asks, and you laugh as you sit back down, unable to help yourself despite the very obvious and rude implication. He’s cheeky, but he’s charming enough to get away with it. You’re not offended, anyways - you’d happily spend a night in Lauda’s bed if he invited you.

“No, James, I took a taxi from my hotel. I was far too busy in the darkroom developing my photos last night to be entertaining Mr. Lauda. Not that it’s any of your business, you nosy twat. Anyways, I’m sure you both left the track at around the same time, so you know I didn’t leave with him.” You retort, and Hunt snickers, giving you a pat on the shoulder.

“I know. I was just messing with you. I wanted to see if you’d get angry.” He admits, pulling a chair over and sitting on it backwards, his arms crossed on the back of it, “So, why’re you in the Ferrari garage?”

You grin sheepishly.

“Niki rescued me from my own lack of directional skills.” You reply, and at Hunt’s raised eyebrow, you continue, “I got lost, and he stumbled upon me and took pity.”

An understanding hum escapes Hunt, and he rubs the lower half of his face as he considers your excuse. He murmurs to himself, almost like he’s lost in thought, “Right… he did, did he?”

You raise an eyebrow at the shaggy blond, “Not common for him to help out a lady in need?”

James shakes his head immediately, waving a hand as if to swipe that thought away.

“No, no, Niki’s a good man, and a gentleman with the ladies. It’s just a little peculiar for him to bring someone into the garage with him.”

“He told me I could go wait in the press area and get sunburnt instead.” You remark, and Hunt laughs.

“So, I assume you’re cheering on the rat, then? I won’t hear your lovely voice shouting my name from the stands?” He teases playfully, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m a very professional photographer, thank you very much, sir. I will be taking photos of as many drivers as I can, and I will be very happy for anyone who wins,” You retort, and James raises an eyebrow with a wide grin, sensing there’s more to come, “however, if my camera malfunctions and they happen to look a bit drab in their photos, it certainly won’t be because they beat Niki and I’m a bit of a vindictive bitch.”

You giggle as James gives a loud, brash laugh, pleasantly surprised. You lean forwards a little in your seat, and Hunt looks away from you briefly before grinning brighter. God, he’s like the sun, it’s almost unnerving.

“So, what is it about the rat that’s got your knickers in a twist?” He asks, and you raise an eyebrow at him with a disbelieving snort.

“First, that’s wholly inappropriate talk in the presence of a lady, so go fuck yourself, darling. Second, why is everyone so goddamned surprised? He’s handsome, whether you blind idiots can see it or not. Far less boring to look at than you lot.” You retort, and James touches his heart and gives a pouty hiss as if wounded, “His facial structure is lovely - high, strong cheekbones, a well-defined jawline, wonderful little nose, and yes, an overbite. I find it quite endearing, frankly. He has nice lips, and his eyes are beautiful. I like his curls. And his arm felt sturdy and supportive under mine when he guided me here.”

James listens, a hint of softness in his eyes as you go on about his close friend and rival, though his ulterior motive is exposed when Niki steps fully into the room and sets a bottle of water on the table beside you. You nearly jump out of your skin, and your brows pull together as you connect the dots, then turn a scowl on James. He puts his hands up, then smiles at Niki.

“I just came to check in. Looks like you’re doing fine. I’ll see you on the track.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with the man who most certainly just overheard you complimenting him quite liberally. Normally, you like to think you’ve got quite a strong backbone. You don’t get embarrassed easily. You’re fairly self-confident, and you can stand up for yourself. 

Not today.

“I should go to the press area if I want to get a good spot.” You practically squeak, and Niki raises an eyebrow at you. He opens his mouth to speak, but you’re already moving, shouldering your camera bags and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he can get a word out.

“I won’t say good luck, since you don’t need it. See you later.” You shout over your shoulder as you practically dart from the garage, your cheeks on fire as you flee. You think you vaguely hear Niki shout something behind you, but you’re already too far to make it out, and you’re too embarrassed to stop or go back. You reach the press area and get set up, talking with a few of the reporters and photographers you know. Taking the cues Tony had given you, you take some pretty fantastic pictures of the race, including one of Niki during a pitstop, Hunt finishing the race in a spectacular second place, and Niki finishing in fourth. You take photos of the winners, deftly avoiding the spray of champagne, and fleeing to the parking lot to consider how you’re going to get home.

Part of you considers waiting for Niki and asking if you can get a ride back to your hotel with him, but the other part of you that’s still a little embarrassed and very unsure about how the Austrian man might react to your fawning holds you back, and you end up calling a taxi. Your plane ride home is a redeye, and you make it from the hotel to the airport just in time to make your flight. You’ve got just under two weeks until you have to go to the Brazil Grand Prix, and you know you’ll be busy, so you don’t stick around in Argentina for any of the afterparties despite being happy enough to live that kind of party life when it’s called for.

Your next two weeks are a whirlwind. You sell even more of your photographs from Formula One than you originally expected, and you reconsider your distaste for the sport even further as the money rolls in. An entire candid series of your photos gets purchased by a popular racing magazine to show the behind the scenes of the Argentina Grand Prix, and you’re proud to see your work highlighted on the glossy pages.

A friend of yours calls on your third day home in an absolute panic, as a model dropped out of his reshoots for a perfume campaign ad that has been bogged down with nothing but problems. He’s way over his original deadline, and desperate to get this done before the publishing date of the ad campaign. You’ve modelled before - you feature heavily in the portfolios of several friends you came up in the industry with - and you have no problem subbing in despite a lack of interest in consistent modelling work. Nudity doesn’t bother you either. You do life modelling at the local art school by your house several times a semester, having become good friends with the director of the school shortly after moving to the area.

Just under two weeks later, you board a flight to Brazil with a copy of the magazine in which your photo is printed in hand, and you can’t help but cringe just a little at the sight of yourself. Thankfully, you don’t advertise your modelling, so most people you know won’t ever see it. You’re draped upside-down over a chaise lounge, oiled legs over the back of the sofa and crossed elegantly, an arm around your breasts as perfume drips onto your bare chest and rolls up your neck. You’re dressed in only pearls and a pair of heels that are hanging from your feet like you might kick them off at any second. Your head is hung over the edge of the seat of the chaise, perfume dripping up the line of your throat, and the bottle features prominently beside you. The only thing that hides your cunt from view is a small strip of silk fabric draped around your hip and between your legs. It’s a beautiful photo. Minimal retouching, stunning composition, and the black and white photo looks far more elegant than it might have in colour. You’re proud enough of it, and you have a folder of some of the rejected shots as further payment for your troubles.

You arrive in Sao Paulo midday on Friday and make contact with the owner of a darkroom, then head off to your hotel. Tony rings you up no more than two hours after you arrive to coax you into getting dinner with him, and he presses about how the rest of the last Grand Prix went, bragging about how many of your photos he’s seen in the last few days. Tony promises to drive you to the track in the morning, and comments that many of the drivers are staying in the same hotel as you both are. He tries to encourage you to get a drink with him, but you insist on heading back to your hotel room to get some decent sleep.

On Saturday, you dress in a peach crochet crop top and high-waisted denim shorts that you have to admit make your ass look fantastic. You’re far from the only person to be dressed for the weather when you arrive - it’s atrociously hot, and Tony insists on bringing a parasol that you can’t help but tease him for. You opt to slather on sunscreen and bring a bottle to reapply later, along with water so you don’t dehydrate. Once again, Tony walks you through the garages as he says hello to drivers, spending extra time with some of his friends while you take countless photos and, admittedly, eye the Ferrari garage. You nearly jump out of your skin when a loud, British voice calls out to you moments before an arm is clapped around your shoulders.

“Hello darling.” Hunt croons, pecking your temple pleasantly, and you smile up at him.

“Hello James.”

“I think you’re more fond of me than you’d like to admit. I saw the photos you took of me winning second. You didn’t make me look drab at all.” The large blond teases, and you shrug.

“Ah, well, I’ll try harder next time.” You retort, and he laughs as he uses his grip on your shoulders to turn you around with him away from Tony. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, brown sandals, and a thin grey t-shirt, but you don’t imagine that will last long. It’s too hot for it. You’re surprised more of the drivers aren’t shirtless already.

“Now, I need something from you.” James insists almost gravely, and you raise an eyebrow as you peer up at him.

“That’s disconcerting. I promise you nothing.”

“Oh, it’s nothing much, love. Just an autograph.” James insists, pulling a familiar magazine out of his pocket and flipping it open to your photo. You wonder if he expects you to be ashamed, or embarrassed. He’s grinning widely, holding out a marker to you, and you take it blithely. Using your teeth to remove the cap, you sign your photo directly across your barely covered tits, then hand it back to him.

“Enjoy. Try not to make the pages stick together or it’ll lose all its value.” You hum crudely, and James laughs so loud you just know everyone must be looking at you. You snap a photo of him braying like a donkey, and he waves you away, his bright grin showing he isn’t actually upset. He flees with his prize, promising to see you later, and Tony leads you closer and closer to the Ferrari garage while you desperately try not to panic. Clay meets you outside, a friendly grin on his face as he greets you both. He compliments several of your photos, including one of him that he informs you his wife is particularly fond of. You promise to have a proper print made for her and take his information so you can mail it, promising to think about attending one of the afterparties for the Grand Prix. You laugh at the lack of subtlety as Clay pushes you to go into the garage while he chats with Tony, but you obey his silent command, finally feeling capable of looking Niki in the eye. You’re slightly less so when you spot a copy of the dreaded magazine on one of the toolboxes.

Niki looks up at you as you enter the garage, and you’re pleased to see that he looks at least somewhat happy to see you. Sure, he’s blushing a little, but you assume that’s because of the magazine and you’re frankly not upset about him getting a peek at you naked, and perhaps wanting another. You waggle your fingers at him, and he nods in return, stepping closer to you. He’s already in his racing suit, though it’s tugged down to his waist, and you take in the sight of his naked chest shamelessly.

“Nice to see you, Niki.” You greet him, putting your hands into your back pockets and offering him a wide smile.

“I did not know if you would show up to another Grand Prix.” He comments, and you shrug, taking a step closer to him.

“Turns out I like racing more than I thought I would. I ended up getting a contract for the rest of the season, so, I guess you’ll have to get used to seeing me around.”

“There are worse things.” Niki replies with a wry, playful smile, and you laugh, “The photo you gave me. It was decent.”

You can’t help but snort, bumping your fist against his bicep gently, “I’m glad you liked it. I’m sure I’ll get more good ones today. Have you put sunscreen on yet, by the way? The sun is harsh today.”

“I forgot mine at the hotel.” Niki admits, and you grab the strap of your bag, wiggling it, then setting your bags on a nearby table since they’re heavy enough that you don’t feel like lugging them around.

“I brought some. I’ll share, since you were kind enough to show me around.” You offer, and Niki nods as he steps closer to you. You pull out the bottle and offer it to him, but he doesn’t take it, and you look at him for a moment as a hint of a cheeky smile tugs at his lips. You let out a breathy laugh, pleasantly surprised, and you pop the cap to squirt some of the sunscreen into your hand then give it to Niki to hold so you can use both of your hands. Niki offers you his arm, and you take your time rubbing it into his skin until the white cast fades. You’re thorough as you make your way up first one arm, and then the other. He lets out a quiet sigh as you rub the thick cream into his chest, and you offer him a faint smile, a knowing look on your face.

You can feel the slight shift in the air. The way Niki leans into your hands, his gaze fixed on you the entire time. The way your heart has begun to pound in your chest, and you can feel Niki’s heartbeat against your palms. You wet your lips as you rub your hands over his shoulders, then carefully turn him around so you can get his back. You’re gentle but indulgent here, letting him enjoy the massage you’ve turned this into, and he lets out a quiet grunt as you work out a knot in his shoulder blade. Once he’s thoroughly protected, you turn him around again, carefully applying sunscreen to his neck and ears, then up over his chin and jaw. He watches you as you cup his face and gently rub some of the thick cream into his cheeks, sweeping over his nose, and up his temples to his forehead.

His stare is intense as you swipe your thumb across his lips, but you’re quick to return your hands to his chest. You apply a layer of sunscreen to his stomach, then examine him to be sure you’ve got him covered, and he finally lifts a hand to squeeze your waist, gentle as can be. The air shifts again, and your eyes go half-lidded, pupils blown. You swallow, throat dry from the spike of heat running through you, and you finally tear your gaze away from him to look around the garage. The door is open, and you can hear Clay and Tony chatting with the mechanics. You wet your lips, placing your hands on Niki’s chest and running your thumbs over his collarbones.

“Hey, Niki? Where do you get changed?” You ask quietly, but your meaning must be clear, since he cracks another grin that sends flutters through your stomach. He slips his arm around you, hand on your lower back as he leads you further into the garage towards the restricted back area where the drivers have their trailers. Niki opens the door for you, then follows you in, and you pull him closer to you the moment the door closes behind him. He raises an eyebrow when you lock it, seemingly surprised, and he cups your cheek tenderly.

“We don’t have time.” He reminds you, hushed, and maybe a twinge regretful. You smile up at him, guiding him to lean against the wall as your hand slips down his stomach and into his racing suit. A ragged gasp leaves his lips, and he bucks instinctively into your hand the moment it wraps around him, already more than half-hard. You give him a couple of gentle strokes through his underwear, then push his underwear down his thighs so you can free his growing erection and wrap your hand around him.

“We don’t have time for more, no. But I guarantee I can take care of you before anyone misses you too much.” You purr against his ear, pressing a gentle kiss to his neck as you begin to stroke him properly. He arches into it a little, letting out an endearing little hum of contentment that makes you smile as he braces his shoulders against the wall behind him. Niki groans as you release him briefly to spit into your hand, and his arm tightens around you, his grip sliding down from your lower back to grab a handful of your ass. He watches you as you play with him, eyes half-lidded and mouth slightly open as he takes little gulps of air, tensing every time you squeeze on your upstroke as you get close to the head. You practically moan as he starts to thrust into your hand, eyes fluttering closed as he leans into it.

“That’s it, honey. Take what you want. M’here just for you.” You whisper against his ear, unable and unwilling to hide the blatant desire in your voice, “I wish we had time. I want to feel you, Niki. I’d be so good to you.”

The Austrian groans, head falling back as his thrusts speed up, fucking into your hand with just a hint of desperation. You can feel him throbbing against you, and you moan softly, dropping your other hand to roll his balls in your palm. A gentle squeeze draws a deeper groan from him, and his hips stutter as he gets closer, so you reluctantly let go of his balls and undo your shorts. He moans softly, sounding almost pained, his pretty blue eyes half-lidded and dark with desire.

“We don’t have time.” He reminds you, voice full of remorse as he squeezes your waist, and you laugh softly as you pull your shorts and underwear down just a little.

“I know, honey, I know. I’m just giving you somewhere to… leave your mark.” You purr, and he groans, pulling you closer to him. He cups your cheek instead of your ass as you stand face to face with him and pull your underwear and shorts out a little, aiming towards your cunt. He lets out a raspy moan of your name as he tips over the edge, hips stuttering as he coats your lower belly, pussy and underwear in cum. Once he’s done, you tuck him back into his racing suit and pull your underwear up to cover the sticky mess he’s made. You wiggle your shorts back up and button them, then pat his chest gently with your clean hand, licking a couple of stray drops of cum from your fingers.

“I won’t say good luck, since you don’t need it.” You murmur, and you’re gone before he can even catch his breath, hooking your arm through Tony’s, “Sorry boys, hate to interrupt, but I’ve got to take Tony here and head over to the press ring.”

Tony follows you, and Clay calls a playful sounding goodbye as he heads into the garage. You spot Hunt making his way in that direction too and snort, almost feeling bad for Niki for the ribbing he’s likely about to get. Until you remember that his cum is dripping down over your cunt, and you won’t be able to get off until the qualifiers are done. Tony asks you about your talk with Niki, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, and you nudge him in the arm with a scoff. He gives you a mildly judgemental look as you duck into a bathroom to wash your hands, but he doesn’t comment, except to remind you that if ever you weren’t happy, you need only tell him and he’d fix it.

Considering Tony’s contacts worldwide, you believe him.

Together, you tuck into the press area, and Tony cheers loudly while you take photos of the drivers getting into their cars. Throughout the qualifiers, you get some fairly good photos, though you pout a little when Jarier gets pole position. With the qualifiers over, Tony pauses to speak with a couple of reporters he knows, and you linger nearby to take photos. You turn to observe the drivers scurrying around their garages, only to freeze as you spot Niki through your viewfinder. He pauses a few steps away from you, hands on his slim hips, and you smile a little at the sight of him all dishevelled from driving. His hair is a little sweaty, curls sticking to his forehead, and you have to bite back a dreamy sigh.

“It has come to my attention that you might want to go to dinner with me.” Niki comments, and you raise an eyebrow at him, biting back a smile.

“Was that a question, honey?” You ask, and Niki’s eyes darken a hint at the nickname you’d only recently whispered in his ear. Unable to help yourself, you let your gaze trail over him, head to toe and then back up, and Niki cracks a smile at your obvious desire.

“Go to dinner with me tonight?” He asks, stepping closer to you, and you shiver as his hand skims over your waist, fitting into the curve like it belongs there.

“Do I have time to go back to my hotel and change? I’m a little sweaty, and I don’t think this outfit is appropriate for dinner.”

“We’re staying at the same hotel. I will come get you when I’m done here. What is your room number?”

You give it to him without hesitation, stepping a little closer to him and watching his gaze trail over you. He leans in closer to you, lips against your ear, and you shiver with delight at the feeling as you grip the front of his racing suit to steady yourself.

“You will not wash me off of you.”

Your thighs clench, and he rubs his thumb into your side gently, almost soothingly as you lean into him a little. You suck your lower lip into your mouth, biting it gently, and Niki pulls it free with his thumb.

“It is shameful that I have not yet kissed you, with what I let you do.” Niki murmurs, and you smile as you reluctantly step away from him, fairly sure that he won’t kiss you here.

“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances,” You reply, your voice playful and low to avoid being overheard, “especially if you keep letting me do whatever I like with you.”

Niki lets out a soft laugh, and you can’t help but grin at the fondness in his eyes, “I will pick you up soon. Go. Then, we will see who is doing what they like.”

~

Two hours later finds you sitting at a table in a warm, surprisingly romantic restaurant, running your foot up the inner side of Niki’s calf while you tell him about some of the work you’ve done. You’re dressed in an a-line dress of layered muted pastel gossamers with a plunging neckline that Niki seems to appreciate considering the ample attention he’s paid to your assets while you ate. He’s told you a bit about his racing career, giving you the typical highlight reel and only opening up a bit more when you ask him about himself rather than his driving. He seems more interested in talking about you, which you can understand. You know he gets asked a million annoying questions about himself in every interview, and then often gets dogged on for giving short, straight-forward, or blunt answers. You tell him about the art school near your home, and the life modelling you’ve done, which he seems curious about but not jealous in the way you’ve had previous men in your life be.

You tell him stories about some of the highs and lows - a student who drew you so beautifully that you felt on a high for the next week, another who kept making your chest bigger than it was, and a third who was kicked out of the class because they kept asking if the class could do in depth anatomy drawing classes since you were naked anyways. You tell him about the modelling you’ve done, largely for your friends who were aiming at going into fashion photography and needed to build out their portfolios. Niki admits that Clay showed him the magazine with your perfume ad in it that morning, and you smile as you sip your wine, offering him a playful wink when he inquires if you’ve done any more nude modelling.

You skim your hand across the table clearly made for dates considering how close you two are, tracing your fingertips across his, and blush as he takes your hand and holds it gentler than any boyfriend you’ve ever had despite you not being his. Contrary to the statement made by the cum still marking your cunt. With his free hand, Niki eats the last bite on his plate, and you feel excited butterflies in your stomach at the thought of perhaps going home with him soon.

“Do you want to get dessert?” He asks you, and you smile, finishing your glass of wine. You slip your hand free of his, and Niki watches as you fidget for a moment before getting up. You lean down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, leaving a hint of a wine mark behind as you slip something into his pocket. He lets you, curious and intrigued by your bold nature, and far more focused on the pretty curve of your hip beside him.

“I’ll meet you outside. Don’t make me wait.” You whisper in his ear, then squeeze his shoulder and head out of the restaurant, past the waiter who seems to be returning to your table to see if Niki wants the bill. You step outside, your clutch in hand and your white heels clicking on the pavement as you enjoy the warm air outside. You hope you weren’t too bold, but when you peek in through the window, you spot Niki staring at the lacey fabric of your underwear pulled only slightly out of his pocket. He seems to have realised what it is, and he meets your eyes through the glass, bringing a coquettish smile on your lips. You wink, and his jaw clenches visibly. He tucks the fabric away just in time for the waiter to arrive with the bill, and Niki pays it so quickly you think he must’ve just let the waiter keep the change, for soon enough he’s walking out the front door towards you.

A strong hand closes around the curve of your hip, and you lean into him, gasping as he jerks you ever closer. He leads you towards the street, hailing a taxi with a simple wave of his hand while he whispers harshly in your ear, “You tempt fate, playing with me like this.”

“Do I? It certainly seems like you’re enjoying it.” You purr, giving him a pointed once-over. He opens the taxi door for you and helps you in, then sits beside you, his hand skimming over your thigh once you’re both settled. He gives the driver the hotel name, then leans into your ear again to avoid the man hearing him.

“I already want you. You do not need to keep seducing me.” He murmurs, and you laugh quietly as you cover his hand and slip it further up under the slit in your dress.

“Is that what you think I’m doing, Niki? Trying to catch your interest and keep it?” You ask, and he squeezes your soft thigh, his eyes dark with desire, “I know you want me, honey. I don’t think you quite know how much I want you, but you’ll learn.”

Niki’s breathing gets a little harsh, and you pet his arm soothingly, doing your best not to make a scene as he rubs his thumb into the meat of your leg.

“The seduction doesn’t stop when I catch your interest,” You inform him, your voice hushed and low, “nor does it stop when you fuck me. It does not stop when you go back to race tomorrow, or when we don’t see each other for a month until the next Grand Prix, or even if you make me yours. It does not stop when we are too tired, or when we are upset. It will continue until we no longer want each other.”

Niki lets out a quiet breath, and you perk up as the taxi pulls up in front of your hotel. The Austrian driver pays for the taxi, slipping out of the car and then helping you out as well. He steadies you, his arm around your waist again as he leads you into the large hotel, heading towards the elevator in thoughtful silence. You don’t question it when he pushes the button for his floor instead of yours. In the quiet of the elevator, he pulls you closer to him, cupping your face in his hand to gently tilt your head back. He presses his lips to yours, gently at first, then a little more hungrily when you moan into his mouth. Your arms slip lazily around his neck, and he sighs into the kiss when one hand tangles into his curls, your manicured nails scraping against his scalp.

You break the kiss as you near his floor, letting him lead you towards his room, his pace just a little bit more hurried than it was before. The door clicks open, and Niki guides you through it, kicking it closed behind him while he pulls you into another kiss. Now, in the comfort of his hotel room without anyone around to see, you smoothly undo the buttons on his shirt while he sucks at your lower lip, then breaks away to nip your top lip. You pant together, both struck breathless as you finally get his shirt open and shove it down over his shoulders.

“You’re in such a rush, mouse.” Niki murmurs as he finds the zipper on the side of your dress and pulls it all the way down to your hip. You frown at him to show your displeasure at his teasing, but it doesn’t knock the grin from his face as he lets you yank his undershirt over his head. He puts a hand over your ribs, thumb tracing the soft line under your breast while you unbutton his jeans, and you sigh into his mouth as he kisses you like he wants to devour you. You’ve just got his jeans undone when he finally pulls the sleeves of your dress down your arms, and you gasp as he guides you to step back out of it, his hands already slipping back to undo your bra. He pushes you back onto the bed once it’s discarded, and you pull your legs up, scooting back a little on the mattress. He catches your ankle before you can get out of his reach, and you feel your cheeks get hot as he parts your legs to admire what remains of the mess he made of you that morning.

“I liked this.” Niki informs you as he rubs his thumb over the messy seam of your cunt, and you shiver with excitement as he pulls you open a little so he can see how far down his cum dripped.

“So did I.” You admit, and his gaze flicks up to you before he pushes his jeans and underwear down over his hips. Your eyes go half-lidded with desire at the sight of his pretty cock, and you welcome him with open arms as he crawls onto the bed on top of you. He trails kisses up your body as he goes, pausing to suck your nipples into his mouth, first one, and then the other. You grasp at his hair, a happy sigh escaping you, though it turns into a ragged moan as Niki slips first one, and then a second finger into you. He crooks them, and you gasp as he strokes across that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl while his thumb presses into your clit.

“Fuck, Niki.” You moan, and he smiles against your skin, trailing kisses across your heaving chest while he pumps his fingers into you. His lips meet yours for another kiss, and you roll your hips to meet him, fucking yourself on his hand while he bites your bottom lip. He scissors his fingers, then adds a third, stretching you out and making you dig your nails into his back. He groans, biting the top of your tit and pulling his fingers free of you to give his cock a couple of firm strokes. You sit up on your elbows as he opens the drawer on his night table and pulls out a foil packet. Niki starts to climb onto the bed, but you lean up to meet him, pushing him to sit up at the head of the bed.

“You are very… bold.” Niki murmurs as you crawl up over his legs to straddle his thighs, “you wish to be on top? To take what you want?”

You hum your agreement, ripping open the condom packet and rolling it onto him while he smooths his hands up over your thighs. Thankfully, he seems agreeable, even if he’s mildly surprised.

“And what is it you want, mouse?” He asks, supporting you as you put one hand on his shoulder and reach behind you with the other, positioning him against you. He lets out a quiet moan, stroking your thighs, then skimming his hands up to grip your hips.

“You, Niki.” You moan as you seat yourself on his cock, sinking down until he’s balls deep inside of you. You drape your arms over his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair while the other hand grasps at his shoulder blades, and you press your chest firmly to his. He kisses you hard, grasping your hips and guiding you to start to ride him as he moans into your mouth, not so much kissing as you’re sharing breath. He’s long, filling you completely, and thick enough that it’s a little bit of a stretch to take him. The slight curve of his cock strokes against a spot inside you with every thrust that makes you whimper and grip him a little tighter, desperate for more. You break the whisper of a kiss and let your head fall back as you ride him hard, setting an eager pace that makes your thighs ache. Niki skims his hands up to cup your tits, closing his lips around your nipple and scraping his teeth across it in a way that makes you whine for more before he switches to the other one.

You gasp as Niki reaches between you to strum your clit, and he groans lowly as you tug on his hair. You begin to move faster, and Niki leans back a little bit to watch you, admiring the way your tits bounce with every thrust. He looks beautiful like this, one hand clutching your side and helping you move, lips parted around a moan, glistening with just a little bit of sweat. You wonder how anyone could ever call him a rat. How anyone could be so blind as to miss how gorgeous he is. And yet you’re happy they did miss it, because now he’s here, under you, letting you take your pleasure from him. Your thighs are burning, and you’re fairly sure you’re going to be sore later, but you’re also rattling towards a stellar orgasm and you couldn’t be happier. With Niki fucking Lauda.

“That’s it, mausi, take it. Take what you need from me.” Niki groans, circling your clit and panting for breath as he does his best to hold on until you come. You moan for him desperately, and he plants his feet to thrust up into you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. Thank God for Niki. He notices you about to scream as you come for him and guides your mouth to his neck, which you bite down on instinctively, clinging to him as if he’ll give you mercy. A guttural groan rumbles against you as Niki quickly finds his own peak only a couple of thrusts later, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure you’ll be bruised afterwards. 

Niki carefully guides you down onto the mattress, and you watch through half-lidded eyes as he slips into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He returns to you shortly after, crawling onto the bed over you and burying his face in your chest. You pet his hair gently, letting out a sleepy laugh as he nuzzles against your breasts, humming with contentment that makes your heart swell in your chest. You rub his shoulders, and he lets out a happy, muffled moan against your skin as he slips his hands under your back to hold you.

“Sorry for biting you.” You murmur, and Niki chuckles against your chest, scraping his teeth over the curve of your breast.

“You haven’t hurt me, mouse.” He replies, “Relax. Perhaps, if you are good, I’ll fuck you again before we sleep.”

~

In fact, he fucks you twice more that night. Once on your hands and knees, face pressed into the mattress as Niki rails you like he’s trying to exorcise his demons through your cunt. Then, in the shower you take together afterwards, back pressed into the cold tiles with Niki’s forehead nuzzled against yours, more intimate than you ever thought you’d get from what you presumed would be a one night stand or a race fling. While you use another condom the second time, Niki simply pulls out after making you lose your mind on his cock in the shower, spreading your cunt open so he can cover you in his cum.

He reluctantly lets you wash it off after, and you sleepily promise that he can come on you in the morning, crawling under the sheets with him. In the morning, he takes you up on your offer, lazily fucking you from behind with your leg pulled back over his hip as he strokes your clit. This time, you reach back to stop him from pulling out, telling him you’re on birth control while he presses kisses into your shoulder. He groans against your skin, and you find yourself gasping for air as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. Heat floods you, and you moan helplessly as Niki fucks his cum deeper into you, redoubling his efforts to make you come before he gets oversensitive.

The mattress shifts behind you as Niki gets up, leaning over you to press a kiss to your temple, then heading into the bathroom to clean up. You roll out of bed, and Niki returns to find you wrapped in a bedsheet and staring out the window, and you lean into him when he steps up behind you and puts his arms around your waist. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, and you sigh dreamily.

“You can borrow something.” Niki murmurs against your skin, and you tilt your head to kiss him, enjoying what you know might be the last few moments of afterglow before he’s done with you. Niki breaks it reluctantly, stepping away to rummage through his luggage and find a shirt and boxer briefs for you. You get changed, finger-combing your hair to neaten it, then helping Niki button his shirt while you steal a couple of kisses before you leave.

“I’ll see you at the track.” You murmur against his lips, and he hums, giving your bottom a firm squeeze.

“Come to the garage. You can watch the race from there.” Niki replies, and you can’t help but smile.

“That’s bold. People will ask questions if you have a photographer waiting in the garage for you.” You remind him, and Niki looks at you blankly.

“They can ask all they like. My woman will cheer for me from my garage, not wait in the sun in the stands like everyone else.” Niki retorts, and you feel your stomach flip, heart beating nearly out of your chest.

“Your woman?” You clarify, and Niki pulls you closer to him, kissing you hard enough that your teeth clack together clumsily. It does nothing to take away from your eagerness, and you clench your fingers in his shirt, knees going just a little weak. You’ll never admit it, though.

“You think I am so careless to come in any woman? I have condoms for a reason, mouse.” Niki reminds you, and you gasp against his mouth, eyes rolling back as your cunt throbs, “unless, you do not want to be mine.”

“Don’t be stupid, Niki Lauda. You know what I want.”

~

After the Brazil Grand Prix, you spend the early evening bent over the edge of Niki’s bed, or grasping the headboard for dear life as he fucks out the adrenaline high of racing into your sweet body. You’re booked for another late flight home, and Niki barely lets you go in time to make it to the airport, even though he’s got his own early flight in the morning. You head home with promises to visit Niki in Vienna once you’ve settled your work commitments and sent off your photos to their respective buyers. You talk to each other at least every other evening, though you both have a lot going on. One evening, you even drag your phone into the bathroom so that you can talk to Niki while you’re in the bathtub, and he expresses regret that he can’t share it with you. It takes far too long, in your opinion, to get your business settled. But finally, nearly two weeks later, you call Niki earlier in the day than you usually do.

“I’m ready. So, if you still want me, I can be in Vienna as early as tomorrow.” You inform him instead of saying hello, and Niki’s breathy sigh crackles over the landline.

“Tell me where to pick you up, and when. I will be there.” Niki replies, and you giggle, excitement bubbling in your belly.

“So it’s a good thing that I booked a plane ticket arriving tomorrow without asking?”

“Bold, as always, mouse. What time am I picking you up?” Thankfully, Niki sounds amused rather than annoyed.

“I arrive at Vienna Airport at eleven am tomorrow. My flight leaves at 7:30 tonight. So, I’ll be getting on the plane while you’re fast asleep at 2:30 am.” You inform him, “At 11 am, it will be 4 am for me, so I’m taking a nap on the plane so I can try and beat jet lag.”

“We will have a lazy day.” Niki promises, and you sigh happily at the idea, folding a pair of jeans to tuck into your suitcase.

“Should I bring anything in particular?”

“I will take you out to dinner - something suitable for that. It is mild this time of year. Similar to your weather, I believe.” Niki comments, and you laugh as you pack a knit sweater.

“So, no requests for lingerie? Short skirts? Plunging necklines?” You inquire, and Niki gives a thoughtful hum, as if he hadn’t even thought of requesting anything.

“I trust your taste, mouse. Bring what you think I will like, and I will do my best to show you my appreciation.”

“Yessir.”

~

After an eight hour and fifteen minute flight that you entirely slept through, you pick up your luggage after going through customs, and spot Niki waiting for you from a distance. There is no dramatic reunion. You don’t run across the airport into his waiting arms to kiss his face off like in a movie. Instead, you walk calmly over to him, and he takes the handle of your luggage, putting his arm around you and greeting you with a gentle kiss to your cheek and a query as to how your flight was.

He opens the door to his car for you, helping you in, then putting your luggage in the trunk. You squeeze his thigh when he gets into the car, and you notice him smiling as he drives away from the busy airport towards his home. You stroke his thigh as he drives, and you can’t pretend you don’t notice the stirring in his trousers. It does nothing to stop you, of course. You have plenty of plans for your Niki. As you get to a less busy area of town, you hum thoughtfully to yourself, then pull your hair back out of your face. Niki glances at you curiously as you reach over towards him, unzipping his trousers.

“Woah- mouse, what are you doing?”

“Whatever I like.” You retort, pulling his half-hard cock out of his boxer briefs and swirling your tongue around the leaky tip.

“Mouse…” Niki groans softly, wrapping your hair around his hand and pulling gently as if to stop you.

“If you can’t focus, pull over.” You hum, slapping his cock against your tongue a couple of times, then taking him into your mouth. Niki grumbles to himself above your head, letting out a low, growly groan. You hear the gentle tick of the turn signal, and then the bumps and rumble of the car pulling off the road. As soon as the car turns off, Niki’s hands tangle in your hair, and you moan around his cock as he pulls.

“Fuck, mausi. You could not wait?” Niki asks, and you hum an affirmative, bobbing your head at a leisurely pace, “No, of course not. You were too desperate for my cock, weren’t you?”

You slip your hand into his underwear to roll his balls in your palm, and he groans, bucking up into your mouth then apologising hoarsely as he pets your hair back from your face. You moan around him encouragingly, then decide that Niki deserves your somewhat unique talent. He’s been good to you. Blown your mind enough times despite your limited time together. You let him slip from your mouth, swallowing the precum and saliva pooling in your mouth, then taking a couple of deep breaths.

“Feel free to thrust, if you like. I can take it, honey.” You purr, and before Niki can ask for clarification, you take him back into your mouth, sinking down until your nose is buried in his pubic hair. Niki groans, guttural and low, his head thumping back against the headrest hard. Rumbling german interspersed with the occasional english swear word falls from Niki’s lips as you swallow him down, wiping every thought from his mind until his gentlemanly ways fall lax and he begins to fuck into your mouth eagerly. You moan helplessly as he chases his release, gripping your hair tightly as he finally falls over the edge.

“Don’t swallow yet. Let me see.” He pants, and you obediently do your best not to swallow or let any of his cum leak from your overstuffed mouth. Breathing through your nose, you sit up in your seat and situate yourself, then open your mouth to show off the mess he’s made of you. Niki moans softly, tapping your chin.

“Swallow.”

You obediently do, and he leans across the short distance to kiss you, licking into your mouth to taste himself off your tongue.

“When we get to my home, I will show you around. You will put down your things, and then I am going to ruin you for any other man.” Niki whispers against your lips, and you moan softly, letting out a little whimper when he leans back into his seat to put himself away and then resume the drive home.

And ruin you he does. As promised, Niki takes you on a tour of the home, his hand tucked into your back pocket. You put your luggage in his room, and then he takes you into the bathroom to take a bath, though you’re sure you nearly cause a flood with how much water flows over the edge when he fucks you. Afterwards, nice and clean, he takes you down to his living room and you try to watch a film together, but Niki ends up not seeing much of it as he kneels in front of his couch between your legs and makes you see stars on his mouth.

You have a light lunch, then curl up together for a nap, your head pillowed on Niki’s chest with you curled around him. You wake to Niki laying you back on the couch beneath him, covering your neck and chest in kisses as he flips up your skirt and pulls down your tights.

“Is this okay?” He asks, and you moan softly as he sucks your nipple into his mouth.

“Niki, you can fuck me whenever you like. Even if I’m sleeping, you don’t have to wake me up. If I’m not into it, I will tell you, but I promise you I’ll almost always be into it.” You murmur, and Niki groans as he yanks your underwear down and positions himself. He slips inside easily, still all pliant and wet from before your nap, and you relax beneath him and let him take what he needs. You’re still half-asleep, so you don’t participate nearly as much as you usually do, but Niki seems to like the sleepy moans and whimpers he’s able to pull from you, and the way you hold onto him as if he’s the only thing keeping you together.

The rest of your visit in Vienna goes similarly. Lazy morning sex seems to be a necessity for both of you. Breakfast is always a quiet but gentle affair, curled up together while you eat. Niki takes you to art galleries, museums, and historical sites. Some days, he takes you on walks. Some days, you don’t leave the house much at all, and you begin to realise how easy things are together. You take enough pictures of your boyfriend to open a Niki Lauda gallery, and he lets you drag him to a darkroom to develop many of them, which results in Niki fucking you in the low lit room with his hand over your mouth to stop anyone from hearing you.

You fly to South Africa together, and you only spend one night in your own hotel room before Niki drags you back to his own, complaining about poor sleep. Once again, Niki is disappointed with the results of the race, and he follows you back home instead of going to Vienna to enjoy the nearly two-month break before the Spanish Grand Prix. You end up in Ibiza for a good month of that break, lazing in the sun, swimming, or giving each other couples massages. You end up being the better masseuse of the two of you, and Niki lets you work out his stress until he melts underneath you, his pretty blue eyes half-lidded and happy.

It’s bliss, honestly. By the time Spain rolls around, you’ve dropped all pretence. Everyone knows you’re together - Tony, Hunt and Clay are all beyond thrilled. Hunt asks you far too many questions about your sex life, and you answer none of them, except to inform him that you are thoroughly satisfied. Tony warns Niki that no one will find his body if he hurts you, and Niki doesn’t seem bothered by the threat, confident that it won’t be necessary. Clay simply seems pleased that Niki is perhaps more at ease, and that you’re happy together.

Spain ends up being a nightmare. The race is cancelled part way through due to dangerous conditions and crashes, and Niki needs the break to work with his team. You end up spending the break working as well, away from Niki, and while it is difficult, you make quite a bit of money. Your work is hot at the moment, and plenty of people are happy to pay for your photographs of other sporting events.

Monaco changes things. Niki wins. And he keeps his momentum, winning three Grand Prixs in a row, placing second in another, then first again in France. Great Britain is a mess all around, but Niki recovers with a third place in West Germany. Austria is another mess on par with Spain with the race ending early and only half points awarded. In Italy, Niki secures his championship with a third place, but he goes on to win first in the United States anyways as if to prove he earned it with his fifth first place of the season.

He proposes after the season is over, and you marry at the courthouse in Vienna. He goes home with you to pack your things after you manage to secure a visa due to your marriage, and you move your belongings across the ocean without a single thought of looking back. Niki only breaks the news to the press when he is caught wearing his wedding ring at a post-championship interview, and he’s not thrilled to have most of his interview questions diverted to his recent wedding, but he answers what he’s willing to. Which isn’t very much, frankly.

~

“Does that feel good?” You whisper as you stroke your hands up over your husband’s arms to squeeze his triceps almost reverently. Niki’s eyelashes flutter as he closes his eyes, quiet moans falling from his pretty pink lips. You watch with a smile as his muscles flex against the soft silk tying his wrists to the headboard, and you can’t help but sigh adoringly as he catches his lower lip between his teeth, emphasising his overbite in such a pretty way that you want to take a picture of him. Not that he’d ever let you. 

Not that you’d ever want anyone else to see him like this. You’ve very possessive of Niki’s submissive side.

“Mausi.” Niki murmurs warningly, and you give him a sharp look, eyebrow raised as if you can’t believe him. You can. Niki is terrible at being patient in bed, and while he enjoys submitting to you, he does not enjoy it when you tease him. Or rather, he does, but he likes to pretend he doesn’t. Male pride, you assume.

“What is it, sweetheart?” You ask, pouting at him mockingly as you run your hands down over his chest, thumbs swiping across his sensitive nipples. He jerks beneath you, letting out a raspy moan that has you cooing sympathetically, “Ohh, are you sensitive, baby?”

Niki presses his head back into the pillows, moaning breathlessly as you pinch his nipples between your index fingers and thumbs, sitting your bare ass back against his hard cock as you tweak them. A gentle pull has Niki bucking up against you, digging his heels into the bed to try and get some leverage so he can thrust up against you. It’s difficult with his ankles bound to the footboard, but he tries regardless, desperate for more contact. You pull again a little more sharply, and Niki lets out the softest whimper, an angelic look of submission on his face as he pushes his chest up into your hands rather than pulls away.

This is when you give him mercy. You lean down, cupping his pecs from below and pushing them up while you bring his right nipple into your mouth and suck harshly. Niki groans, and you flick your tongue over him a couple of times, then bite gently when his nipple gets hard. You’ve missed him so much while he was gone, nearly a week without him feeling like too much even though it isn’t the first time. You lovingly kiss your way across his chest to his other nipple and repeat the process, but this time, you adjust your hips so you’re pinning his cock between your wet cunt and his stomach. You start to roll your hips, grinding on his cock in a mimicry of the pussyjobs he’s used your cunt for in the past. He’s especially fond of them when you’re half-asleep and pliant, in the early hours of the morning with the sun's first light kissing your skin through the partially open curtains. He says you look like a painting like that, only you’re his, so he can touch the artwork all he likes.

Niki blinks up at you with hazy eyes, lips parted and panting for breath as you toy with him. His pretty blue eyes are full of love and lust, your personal favourite look on him, and you smile as he arches again, pulling on the silk binding him to the bed desperately. You smile, tangling your fingers in his hair and gently pulling his head up, forcing him to look down his own body so he can see the leaky pink head of his cock peeking out from beneath your cunt. There’s a little puddle of his precum on his belly, and he flushes as he realises how much he’s dripping.

“Do you want more, baby? Do you want your mausi to sit on your pretty cock and make you feel good?” You ask, and Niki nods as much as he can with you still holding his head up, “Do you want to fill your mausi with cum? Wanna get her pregnant?”

Niki moans eagerly, nodding again, and you grin as you release his hair and let his head fall back to the pillows. You lean down, lips pressing against his ear while you stroke his cheek lovingly, “I’ve been off my birth control since you left for testing. It’s been almost a full week, so it’s well out of my system.”

That gets a reaction out of him.

“Put my cock in your perfect little cunt, mausi. Let me stuff you full of my cum and I promise I’ll get you pregnant with my child.” Niki moans, and you practically purr with delight, scooping up his precum with your fingers and rubbing it over his cock until he’s slick and glistening. You lift your hips and rub the head of his cock through the wetness dripping from you, then notch the head against your hole. You sink down until he’s buried inside of you and you can feel his balls clenching.

“You promise, honey?”

“I swear.” Niki replies instantly, breathless, and you can feel him twitching against you, desperate to roll you over and fuck you into the sheets. He watches with wide eyes as you arch back to grab the little emergency release ties you’d learned to do since you started tying each other up, freeing his ankles from their bonds with one tug. Niki immediately plants his feet in the mattress and starts to buck up into you, and you gasp, falling forwards into his chest while he fucks up into you.

You reach up towards his wrists, tugging the release ties, and Niki surges up before you even have a chance to sit back on him. He rolls you over onto your back, hooking his hands under your knees and pushing them up, folding you in half. He plants his hands into the mattress with your knees hooked over his elbows, and you stare up at him with wide eyes as he slowly pulls out, then slams back into you. He sets a somewhat eager pace, faster than he usually takes you, and you find yourself gasping for breath as you grasp at the sheets beneath you.

“Niki!” You cry, and he groans, leaning down to kiss you surprisingly softly considering how roughly he’s pounding into you. It’s a pretty stark contrast to the sex you’ve had over the past many months, and more reminiscent of the desperate and lust-charged fucking of your early days together.

“I love you.” He murmurs against your lips, “I’m going to fuck a baby into you, mausi. My perfect little wife.”

You can’t form words, but there are tears in your eyes as you try to catch your breath. He kisses them away, dropping his hand between you to stroke your clit, and pressing his forehead to yours.

“Nod if you’re okay, mausi.”

You nod firmly, and he nuzzles his nose against yours, then kisses you again, moaning into your mouth as he gets closer. You finally find your words as you’re about to come, crying against his lips, “I love you too, Niki!”

It’s the last conscious thought you have for the next few minutes. You come back to yourself as Niki is rolling you both over, laying back on the mattress with you on top of him, your face tucked into the curve of his neck. You can feel the warmth of his cum buried inside of you, deep enough that it’s not yet leaking back out. Your husband pets your hair gently, adjusting you just a little so he’s no longer buried inside of you to avoid either of you getting oversensitive and achey. You hum sleepily, and Niki presses a kiss to your temple, his chest rising and lowering rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. You pull the blankets up over the both of you, and Niki strokes your back as you both settle in to go to sleep, too tired to move.

And six weeks later, you find yourself sitting in your doctor’s office with your very proud husband as your doctor tells you that you are, in fact, pregnant. Niki swears he got it done with that first stellar fuck after returning from his testing with Ferrari, but you couldn’t care less, pleased as punch to find yourself pregnant so quickly. Soon, you’ll have a baby Lauda in your arms.

Who would have ever thought that you’d meet your future husband when you went to do a favour for your best friend? Who knew you’d meet your future baby daddy at one of your least favourite sports?

Niki still got blushy when you told him you knew he was yours the moment you set eyes on him, even now, months into your marriage. It was true, though. You knew the moment you saw him - the moment he inspired you, and captured your creative eye. He was your rat, and you were his mouse, and you had the rings to prove it.

[witch-and-her-witcher]

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going! Thank you to everyone who tagged me and have had me in their inspo sections, I adore each and every one of you!

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

518,691 (hoping to add another 3-4k to this before midnight hehe)

I CANNOT drop that number without thanking the fucking dream team who has read EVERY SINGLE PUBLISHED WORD of mine: @popjunkie42 and @climbthemountain2020. From cheerleading, to pumping the breaks when my run ons be running, I appreciate the ever-loving hell out of both of you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Honorable mention betas who hold up that number: @cauldronblssd, @wilde-knight, @thesistersarcheron, and @rosanna-writer. I truly appreciate every one of you babes and your critical, brilliant eyes on my self indulgent streams of thought.

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

21! 13 of those were one shots.

If I can be real, I have two multi-chapter WIPs sitting in my docs, but it felt too irresponsible to post those once I started getting buried in grad school.

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

Heading into the new year, I have 2 in progress fics: Ruin Me for the Fourth Wing fandom and Who's Gonna Know You Like Me? for ACOTAR.

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

Any of my poly fics! I really have to thank @acourtofladydeath for her beautiful brain child @polyacotarweek for getting me into the poly mind set. Although I only wrote throuples for that week (and since aside from the background Nesta/Eris/Azriel/Cassian in Who's Gonna Know You Like Me?), I am interested in writing more complex poly pairings in 2025.

I also can't leave out @yanny-77, @copperfirebird and @hockeyspiral23 for supporting the violaiden obsession! I adore writing the three of them together so so much and it's so fun to have others to share the brain rot with!

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

I had never done a true canon rewrite before dripping in gold! It was so so fun taking an in text scene and making it queer as hell.

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

It's undeniable that A Court of Chaos and Darkness's reception took me by surprise. From the moment I couldn't shake the concept of the fic to the over one hundred kudos it received before I took it off of anon. But even more so, the absolute comfort blanket this fic was as I wrote it was shocking. Something in the healing occurring, in the recognition of the complexity of parenting and the messiness of the parent/child relationship really struck me.

The fic @revenge??? I love you filthy azris lovers. This was an outlet for some of my dating app blunders and shenanigans and you all really said "serve."

And then there's my first omegaverse fic and the first of it's kind in the Fourth Wing ao3 tag (when it was posted, I believe there's several more now!): so what now? The Fourth Wing fandom has been warm as hell and so inviting to me, but you have all really embraced me bringing weird into the tags and I just can't thank you enough as I gape at the stats.

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

Either of my sapphic fics: dripping in gold (genderbent feysand) and lunch. (morlain ft the mommy kink tag!)

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

There are so, so many talented artists that inspire me! @thrumugnyr, @copypastus , @queercontrarian and @lucychanart have been my muses for all things Tamlin. @climbthemountain2020 and @wilde-knight are triple threats and their art brings me such joy! There's also @dustjacketdraws that always has primo Cassian and Nesta vibes!

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

There are SO many. First and foremost, my babe @popjunkie42. I love you, my muse. Something about reading your writing and just chatting with you inspires all of my ideas to flow. @asnowfern is another muse and writer I can always turn to for inspiration, we were just recalling her Turning Darkness Into Light elucien spooktober fic that tickles my imagination so much among her other works!

I'm inspired and impressed endlessly by @climbthemountain2020 ability to flawlessly produce well developed, gorgeously vivid stories.

@highlordofkrypton, @missfckingfortune and @beesays inspire me constantly with their raw talent and skill and for the first two, the hot and steamy smut they can turn out. @jules-writes-stories inspires me with her OC work and beautifully layered plots (Mithras, my toxic love.) @c-e-d-dreamer inspires me with her fun AU worlds, but also with her fearlessness to tackle toxic relationships - @secret-third-thing is in this same boat as well as @iftheshoef1tz, @foundress0fnothing, and of course the OGs @thesistersarcheron, @whisperingmidnights, @separatist-apologist and @the-lonelybarricade.

There are so many more of you. I love this community and the inspiration that flows all around your creative, galaxy brained minds.

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

SO many, but those I haven't mentioned yet who are so so talented (but not limited to this list): @dusk-muse, @chairofchaos, @shadowsandlint, @xxvalkyriesxx, @fourteentrout, and @littedidyouknow.

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

None this year, but the idea is fun!

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

Could You Love Me While I Hate Myself is my proudest accomplishment this year by far. I always told myself I couldn't: write OCs, write a longfic, or write a fic that would ever break the UNBELIEVABLE stats this fic has done. I proved myself wrong on every front.

Thank you so much to @asnowfern, @popjunkie42 and @wilde-knight for seeing me through this capstone fic and for believing in me and helping me see myself in a totally different light.

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

Be as silly and self-indulgent as possible.

If you have a killer idea/dialogue line/etc - WRITE IT DOWN. YOU WILL NOT REMEMBER IT LATER.

14. What is your advice?

Surround yourself with people who make you feel like you can accomplish anything and you will never fail because there they will be, gassing you up flop or not.

I love you, harem. Writing is so fun BECAUSE of you. <3

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

Continuing to eat, serve and let the haters drown in it.

[marigoldenblooms]

Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 1

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Angst, canon-level violence, use of medieval weapons, body horror description in transformation, magic use, slight dissociation/self harm, restraint, fluff (for five seconds), R is a simp, so is W, N is not here to play, etc.

A/N: I’ve been working on this next chapter ever since the previous. Chapter two is coming along quickly as well! I want to keep a bit of a backlog for my longer fics, so updates will be as frequent as I can manage. The name established in this chapter for R will be used sparingly, but I loved what Missmonsters2 did with Between the Lines when I read it months ago, and thought it’d be pertinent until nicknames/pet names are established (and for as long as I can avoid conversation where names are necessary). 

R’s monster form brought to you by bearded vulture inspiration! Feel free to imagine your own version of avian horror to your heart’s content. Enjoy, y’all!

Word Count: 3.1k - Read Length: 11 minutes, 18 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners!

~~~  The healer’s home was nothing short of overwhelming. 

Multi-colored knick-knacks were strewn on every surface, perched below gatherings of drying, braided flowers which hung from the rafters. Beneath your feet, woven rugs of alternating sizes dotted the cabin’s cool wooden floors, like islands between a chilled sea of timber. The front door lead further into a sitting room, offering glimpses into a small, quaint looking kitchen, adorned with a single well-worn table and chair. Within that same place, a large pot was held still on the counter by wisps of scarlet magic, another more opaque plume coaxing a wooden spoon to stir whatever was inside. 

Paintings hung along every wall, although you could never get a full glance at one, as though they’d subtly shift and change muses whenever you’d look away. The sound of a shutting door would heighten your senses enough to break from the scenery, turning on your heels to face the home’s owner once again. She’d pry at you with a half-smile, and you’d solidify your gaze at the floor before her eyes could have the chance to meet yours. 

“What brings you to my home?” She’d question evenly, her words a pleasing rasp- smooth molasses which could easily cloud your senses if you allowed her to. You’d see her form move to the side of you in your peripheral, yet you’d remain still, your stare continuing to bore a hole into her carpet. 

Wordlessly, you’d tug at your shawled sleeve to show the back of your arm. Running along the skin’s expanse were thin ridges, pin feathers prickling beneath taut flesh. A light down speckled your skin in odd patches, consolidated mostly on your neck and shoulders for now. Your hair had begun to fleck and grow waxy and silkish, akin to dense ostrich feathers, tousled from your trek to her abode. You’d watch the ground as her shadow would shift around you, a curious tsk showcasing her intrigue.

You wouldn’t see her raised expression, eyebrows furrowed as she’d take your wrist without warning, raising it up so she could see the indentation better in the light. She’d drop your arm as soon as she’d grabbed it, falling limply to your side, and her smooth voice would threaten to carry you off again. “Fascinating..your affliction isn’t something I’ve seen recently.”

“Can you help?” You’d mumble, the few phrases coming to you sounding choked from lack of use, and you could hear the healer’s grunt at your lackluster response. You’d swallow thickly, trying to find the words to explain all that you were, but none arrived. She’d circle around you once more, and before you could flinch away, would capture your chin between her thumb and forefinger, wrenching it to make you look at her- green irises narrowing as you’d shut yours, unwilling to look her in the eye. You’d half expect her grip to be cold like the Matron’s, but her touch’s pleasant warmth was something you almost missed as she’d let go of you, the shuffle of her arms crossing heightened behind your closed eyelids. 

“I can’t help a patient I can’t trust,” She’d muse with a teasing lilt, rolling her r’s in a way that made your chest flutter. Was this another symptom of your molt? It had been a long time since you’d been with another and the thought made your heart ache, albeit not more than your bones. “Why won’t you look at me?”

The scoff that came in response to her was almost too easy, opening your eyes after directing your head to the floor again, “Because I am no threat to you.” “And why would I assume that?” She’d retort immediately, and you’d glare into the ground. Why was talking so easy for her? Why couldn’t she understand that you weren’t like her? You’d raise your arm aloft again, the skin burning now as you’d twist the plumage under your flesh for her view. The rage that had been festering in you for days unlocked a torrent of your words, finally finding purchase in your mouth- frustration evident in how each phrase was ripped from your throat. Your larynx would be useless beyond a breathing tool soon, so you better use it now. Your nails clawed at your arms, doubling into yourself, “Because you are human and I am not, healer- is that not something you’re able to understand-?!” 

“Relax for me-” she’d grit, and you’d feel your stomach plummet at her words. Something in them begged obedience, and for a second you felt as though you were back in your nightmare. You’d twitch, glance immediately circling the ceiling as something would restrain you- thin tendrils of crimson magic, keeping your arms from flaring out at your sides. As if seeing your frustration, your panic, the healer’s sorcery would calm, soothing both your body and your mind into an unnatural lull. “You’re…using-” you’d begin, yet words would evade you once again, no longer fueled by anger. There was only a different feeling- regret, and uncomfortable stone in your stomach that you shied away from, wanting to cower from its weight. You didn’t like yelling at this woman, even as she cradled you with her witchcraft. 

You’d feel her heat again, warm hands placing tentative touches to your shoulders, slowly coaxing your glance to hers. “I’m sorry,” she’d breathe, shallow as you’d feel her palms shake against you, “I didn’t want you… to hurt yourself-” Her irises, blooming with clouds of red, would drain into green as you’d feel her magic loosen around your body like unraveling ropes. You wouldn’t shy away from her this time, panting as her gaze would share her soul with you. She, too, held that stone in her gut. Perhaps she didn’t fear you. 

You’d part as her back would stiffen, adding a few feet between the two of you. “What is your name?” She’d ask, and you saw the way her head tilted since you looked at her face. Your words came easier now that you were less tense, muscles losing their rigidity, and yet you didn’t have an answer for her.  You still pried into her windows, eyes flicking across the expanse of her garden from the view you could get from her living room, but it was a start. “I met your gaze, healer..I’ve done my part, you first.”

You’d see the way her nose crinkled at your response, flecks of mirth illuminating her expression, a grin finding its place there, “Talking now, are we? I’m Wanda.” “I’m..Margo.” In truth, you hadn’t had a name in years, the few decades you’d been alive focused more on survival than memory, especially when your molts made it difficult to discern who you really were- humanoid or avian. You’d forgotten your birth name ages ago, and it was a blessing that your words left your mouth as cleanly as they did. She’d tut at your response, taking it in as satisfactory, “Sure…Margo. Would you like to sit down?” 

Wanda would guide you to her kitchen table without much fanfare, settling you on her single chair. With a focused look and a wave of her hand, however- a duplicate would reveal itself from a cloud of scarlet mist. “Your magic is red?” You’d inquire, tilting your head as you’d seen her do, “It’s a violent color. Why is that?”

“Do you really want to toe that line?” Her phrase were humorous, yet you swear a flash of indignation peppered her visage. You were not going to mess with that line, whatever she meant by that. “No, Wanda.” She smiled at that, her name seemingly pleasing in your mouth. You felt the flutter in your chest again, heart drumming a little faster against your shifting ribcage. If this was a sign of your incoming succession, then you had to finish this fast- to return before you transformed in Wanda’s house. And yet, why was the feeling almost pleasant? 

“You said you haven’t seen my ‘affliction’ in a while,” You’d recount, finding her term for your molt unremarkable. You’d offer her a glimpse of your arm again, hesitating to touch the quills beneath. It was always tender before a lunation, and you didn’t want to aggravate the transformation further, “It doesn’t normally happen so soon. In hours before the new moon, maybe- not over days.” 

“And what happens after those hours?” She’d coax your arm down with a gentle wave, seeing how your movements grew stiff as your skeleton hollowed out. You shrug, “I transform.” Wanda’s expression would sour, yet curiosity prickled underneath. Why did she look at you like that? “Can you help me? You said you're familiar with my kind.” 

“..In truth, I’ve never met someone like you,” She’d murmur, expression bashful, and if the circumstances were different you would’ve taken it as a compliment. Instead, spiked embers of dread seared in your stomach, heart beginning to thrum in your ears. She didn’t know. Could she even help you? Her voice would raise a little louder, “However, if you tell me about yourself, perhaps I could figure it out.” With a twirl of her fingers, two cups of..something floated towards the table. Her gaze was an offer, “Thirsty?”

You’d nod, your throat suddenly dry. The drink was smooth and warm, with a bite of something fresh and crisp. It was much better than your rainwater. Gulping more of it down, you notice how she’d smile at your eagerness, careful not to spill as you’d raise the cup from its saucer. “Cider,” she’d mention, motioning to her mug, “Where are you from?” “My cavern is far from here. About half a day’s walk.” Wanda’s eyebrows would raise. “Cavern? You live in a cave?” Her interest was a delight, and you wanted to keep it for as long as you could. You didn’t answer her question, instead throwing one back at her, “Why do you live far from your town?”

“Bellmoor?” Amusement would blanket Wanda’s expression, snorting as she’d shake her head, twisting in her chair so she could lean forward towards you, “Because I like my peace and quiet. I assume the same for you, Птичка?” 

“What does that mean?” You’d ask, and she’d tut again. “Now now, that can be your next question, but it’s my turn.” She’d scrunch her nose at your grumbling acquiesce, and you couldn’t help but smile with her. You liked this game. Wanda rested her hands on her table, and your eyes were caught on the shimmer of her rings as she’d speak, “Can you control your transformation?” That one was easy. “Fuckin’ wish I could...” Wanda’s brows would reach her hairline at your curse, but you wouldn’t give her time to comment as yours would stream from your maw, though it’d stop early, “No Aegypius can. What does..”

“‘Птичка’ mean?” She’d grin, rasping her knuckles on the wooden grain at each syllable, “Little bird, birdie, you have feathers underneath your skin, yes?” You’d send her a taunting look, one that she met in equal measure. You’d smile back at her, “Is that your question?” 

Wanda would balk, gotten so caught up in teasing you that her words just tumbled out with no direction. You’d see her cheeks grow pink, clearing her throat with a stuttered breath, and you swear she felt like you did when you felt that flutter. “No, it isn’t-” She’d respond smoothly, but you caught how her eyes shimmered, and you took another sip of cider. You knew why when her words made your mind double-take, “Would you like to stay with me tonight?”

You almost spit out your drink, coughing on it as you’d sputter, blush alighting your face. You felt it warm and you tried to hide it away, your flustered reaction seemingly pleasing Wanda. She certainly didn’t know what that meant to you, “I..you want me to stay with you- I’m going to molt tonight, Wanda.” 

“And if I am to help your transformation, then I must see it in person,” She’d respond, never losing her smile. It soothed you, that richness in her tone and that calm in her expression, and you’d feel a new pull in your heart. One you hated.

Your instincts wanted you to ruin her. Wanted her vulnerable as she was, to splinter her bones into shards you didn’t even have to chew. 

To take advantage of her weakness, your hunger eating you alive unless you picked her clean, consumed-

You’d swallow, a shaky breath leaving you. Wanda had blinked, and your voice acted quicker than your mind would comprehend, “I don’t want it helped, Wanda. I want it gone.” You’d feel your skin itch at that, and a cold dread filled your gut, like the Matron’s chill held you once again. Your words were a whisper. “But I don’t think my body will let me.” 

“All the more reason for you to stay. Do you have anything that helps you calm down?” She’d ask, leaning forward with a gentle lilt. Her hand would’ve come across the table, offering her palm to yours. It was calloused, warm skin juxtaposed with smooth metal, and you took it in yours gratefully. You were starting to really like her company. 

------------------------------------------

The hours would’ve floated by you, a subtle bliss filling you as you and Wanda would’ve enjoyed the rest of your evening together. You could feel your body shift by the hour, and yet a part of you didn’t care if you were with her. You’d show her your chains, mentioning their unknown inscription and how they’d keep your form….distracted. You would be kept in the barn once the moonless night had begun, the sky within a period of tranquil dusk. She ghosted her hand across the rim of your shackles, and you were surprised they didn’t burn her like they did you. An Aegypius trait, you supposed. 

Wanda had made you stew using that pot from earlier, while you hovered in the vicinity, chopping up carrot and onion into more manageable pieces. The meal was finished after it had boiled for a long time, and it was only when you sat down to enjoy it with her that a blink of movement would catch your eye. The bay windows curved in a beautiful shape that let the last vestiges of light in, and you’d register the sight of silver metal piercing into the glass before you heard it smash. 

A figure leapt through its shattered remains, thick cloak blanketing their form to protect them from the glass. Their armor and longsword was polished beautifully, and they would be regal if it wasn’t for their war shout and barred teeth. You could see their face beneath their hood, just before the glint of their weapon as it’d slice down towards your chest. 

You’d dodge, rushing backwards until your back hit the other end of the wall. As the longsword would finish its downward arc, Wanda’s magic would cradle its blade, her hands outstretched and bent as if trying to push it up. Her voice was strangled and thin, heard between the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears, “run, Margo- go!” 

Turning to bolt, you’d hear the clatter of boots against wood as a rougher hand would grab you by the scruff of your neck. Writhing in their hold, you’d shove your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, before grabbing their hand from your nape to sink your teeth into it. “Fuck, you гриф-” The knight’s heavy breath was audible from behind your back. You’d bite harder, feeling their skin break beneath your jaw as you’d thrash, trying to cleave flesh off. They’d tear their hand from you, kicking your legs with a force that sent you barreling down. 

Your head would hit the hardwood floor, and you could hear the ringing in your ears as you’d look up, vision swimming as everything looked double. Your hooded attacker brandished their longsword with two hands above you, although it looked like they had four. Before they could stab the blade downward, Wanda’s hand would lurch out to their neck- pressing the kitchen knife into their throat as her other palm would scratch towards the knight’s eyes, the pair barreling backwards which left you an outside view that made your pupils retract into pinpricks. 

The sky was dark, illuminated with bright swaths of stars. Tears pricked at your eyes. The few treetops you saw couldn’t even reach its height, blanketing the world in an awaiting gloom. You knew the moon was out there, but you couldn’t see it. Your mind reeled, thoughts growing famished as you’d stare into its expanse. You licked your lips. The sky offered you reprieve, and who were you to deny its feast?

The wheezing pop of bone into stronger sockets would startle Wanda and her assailant into a tense standoff, your witch pinning the stranger to the floorboards while the knight tried in vain to grasp at their longsword that had been kicked many feet away. Your breath heaved with strength you hadn’t felt before, seizing as the voice that came from you was no more than a guttural hiss. Your skull would reshape, mouth widening into a curved beak, hooking into serrated edges, while your skull would become angular, bird like. Anything but human, you were no longer recognizable. Feathers would blanket the creature’s shifting musculature, tearing from roughened skin as they’d fan into shape. Its arms and legs grow as its fingers would lengthen, bat-like wings creaking before they’d be covered in plumage; ivory white on it’s neck and shoulders, cascading into darker blacks and blues elsewhere. The monster’s feathers wouldn’t remain unpigmented for long, as they’d begin to warm on its skin- sparks flying from where they touched, growing into a burnt umber. The beast would groan as its wings crashed to the floor- bipedalism was no longer an option, the force cracking the wooden boards. Horns would thunder from shaking its monstrous head, the beast’s eyes blinking into pale gold with a crimson ring surrounding them. A black line of feathers ran down the side of its face and to its gaping maw, tufted at its chin. Its feathers had heated into shades of orange, flecked with flame- while cyan speckled where its temperature had reached an apex.

Silence would still the room, the shaky inhale of breath marking the presence of living beings in it’s fray. The demon would blink again, a gnashing sound emanating from inside its cavernous beak. It’d then raise itself on its haunches, spread its twelve meter wingspan (shattering the walls in its wake), and echo a deafening, reverberating call into the night. 

The hunt had truly begun. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

~~~

[lunaetis]

shipping call ! by giving this post a like, you're letting me know that you're interested in developing a romantic relationship / dynamic between our muses whether in present or in the future. i'll eventually slide into your DMs to discuss / plot with you and see how things would go ! a few things to note before you like this post :

prior interaction is not required. you can like this even if our muses had never interacted before ! likewise, even if we have ships going on, you can still like this if you want more !

this does not guarantee a ship. i still reserve the rights to say no. ( vice versa, if i pitched you a pairing and you don't agree with it, you can say no as well ! )

please have at least one muse or pairing ( for multis ) in mind. you can have more than one muse / pairing you want, of course ! multiple ships are more than welcomed ! i just want to make sure we have something to start off with. you can leave a reply to let me know !

i am ship exclusive. i will not ship with duplicates if a muse of mine is already shipped with a portrayal of a muse. you can find the list of my current mains & ship exclusive here.

some muses are more difficult to ship with than others. i ask that you're patient with them ( and me ) and that you understand if some might not be interested. chemistry is key, both ic and ooc.

if we ship, i will scream in caps to you 90% of the time. please bear with me.

i am slow with DMs and ooc messages / discord. sometimes you might see me on dash but i haven't answered your messages ooc. my social energy is low. please don't take this personally.

[ambunyun]

Doctor Who x Honkai Star Rail Prompt (1)

The Doctor discovers another universe, and new people to bother.

The Thirteenth Doctor dashed back and forth before the TARDIS' control console, skidding across the floor every now and then as she maniacally pulled and flipped switches and levers.

"Okay, old girl, this is not what I meant when I said 'surprise me'!" The Doctor yelled at the console, which spewed back mechanical noises in indignation.

The Doctor groaned and rolled her eyes. A particularly strong rumble caused her to stumble backward onto the handrail. "Ugh!"

She powered her way against the increasing quakes of the temporal storm surrounding the TARDIS' path. Usually, the TARDIS' shielding was more than enough to ignore such issues, but this time the old girl was acting up - and for no apparent reason!

The Doctor grabbed tightly onto the monitor screen - the coordinates were all wrong! She hadn't even known a section like this existed within the Time Vortex! Oh god, Yaz was gonna be so mad at her.

"This looks like..." The Doctor wished she had her glasses with her right now as she stared at the display screen. "A cluster of parallel universes branching off, yet connected to the same source. Classic multi-world theory, but I've never seen Vortex Energy having this kind of pattern before. Almost like leaves on a tree," she mused and then spouted out floods of scientific jargon, before realizing she was talking to herself again.

The unmistakable cyclic wheezing sound of the TARDIS' dematerialization field could be heard, accompanied by the ringing of the Cloister Bell. Well, that was another Tuesday.

"We're gonna crash!" The Doctor yelled, to no one but her in particular.

"Ahem! Attention all passengers." Pom-Pom announced with a clear tone, reverberating throughout the familiar halls of the Astral Express.

The Trailblazer remained seated on the Express' comfy lounge, head pressed against the window reflecting the sea of stars.

They had just made a detour back to Xianzhou Luofu to participate in the Wardance. After defeating Hoolay and settling the borisin invasion, and at the Traliblazer's begging request, the crews will again return to Herta's Space Station for the testing of the Simulated Universe, as well as preparations for the upcoming school festival from Penacony.

"The Express is about to make the jump — The Express is about to make the jump — Please be seated and hold on!"

March knew better not to stand around this time.

"The train is about to make the jump!"

The Trailblazer closed their eyes.

"5! 4! 3! 2! 1!"

The Trailblazer expected the familiar vomit-inducing sense of dizziness to wash over them.

But nothing happened. Not even the blue light of the warp engine could be seen.

"H-Huh?" March 7th seemed befuddled. Even Dan Heng came out of his room to check. "What's the hold-up?" March tried to ask but quickly stopped when she realized that Welt and Himeko were nowhere to be seen.

"Conductor?" Dan Heng directed his voice to the empty air, but received no reply.

Suddenly, the entire Express shook over. Objects and people were knocked down to the ground from a particularly strong impact.

"Something just crashed into the Express!" Dan Heng yelled.

"Ughh, is this the Knight guy again?" March whined while covering her head.

"Everyone," a voice rang out from the PA system. It was Himeko. "Please stay calm, the Express has just encountered an unknown burst of Imaginary energy - which had crashed the Star Rail."

Welt chimed in. "We theorized that this is caused by a sudden imaginary leakage phenomenon. However, we do not know what caused the phenomenon in the first place."

"We do see a blue box, however." Himeko continued, although her tone had a degree of incredulity behind it. "A blue, rectangular, wooden box to be exact. And I advised all of you to be extremely careful right now, because it had just crashed into the Engine room.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Cassie: Friend, Soulmate, and Self-Regenerating Muse

One of the ongoing themes of my multi-book series is The Muse: the consciousness, archetype, and ways of moving and being of the Muse, who is the Muse and why this energetic matrix is important for every femme to embody for her aliveness and manifestation potential. I made a major edit in this chapter after randomly meeting someone one warm day in Amsterdam recently. The chapter now opens with a story about her.

Cassie is her name and she is stunning. I don’t know what it is about Amsterdam but I rarely—meaning—never —meet people I feel a deep soul kinship with. To be fair, I spend more time biking in Amsterdam instead of walking because the weather is often trashy. But walking is my favorite exercise and I tend to walk a whole lot more in other cities when I’m traveling because, hello, beautiful weather. But on this warm beautiful Sunday in Amsterdam, I joyfully walked everywhere. That’s how I met Cassie, an Indonesian and Surinamese (Black) 38 year old Goddess as she was lightheartedly and confidently sashaying down the street in her short denim dress with peak-a-boo air holes cut out on the sides which illuminated her waist.

She was alone with no cell phone or bag, casually strollin' to her own rhythms while licking a vanilla ice cream cone and delighting in her own innocence and pleasure after walking through the city for hours I would later find out. That is so me—walking for hours in a city and getting lost without a cell phone on me. It was like seeing myself and one of my favorite Minnie Riperton album covers come to life in full-size, "Perfect Angel," the one where she is holding a dripping ice cream cone while smiling so sweetly. Suddenly Cassie made a u-turn and sat on the bench directly across from me. I knew I had to say something to her.

The first thing I said was “you must tell me what you do to have that kind of body.” She responded “you must tell what YOU do to have that kind of body.” She reminded me of me so much—it was dreamy and surreal as watching a Maya Deren “black and white” film yet it was as real as human flesh and a beating heart. You know what her answer was?! “I don’t workout my body. I just workout my mindset and emotional body.” I responded with all manners of celebration “you magical neuroscience quantum theory Gawddddd.” We both laughed! We ended up talking for 4 whole hours— nerding out on everything from quantum physics and metaphysics to speaking about our dreams, love, farm life, and why high-quality, non-extractive penetration (when mutual love and reverence are present regardless of the 'relationship status' between the two) is essential for the healthy shape of a woman’s body and to liberate the deeper coiled wisdom living in her female tissues that no male guru in India could ever possibly understand or teach. It felt like Cassie and I had only been sitting there for only 30 minutes. She was my muse and I was hers. We went on a real journey together.

To open yourself up to The Muse and allow this regenerative consciousness to be your lighthouse in the world requires devotion and a kind of playful endurance and resiliency where you begin to hold a quality of self-worth that does not allow you to give up before the miracles start to happen in your life. Being able to follow a dream -your heart's desires and big visions, capable of trusting the process of what is being divinely asked of you to do and not give up, truly embodying the mindset of a divine being, yield a greater energy of pure power. And what I know about energy is that everything is sourced from it, even though it appears physical to our eyes.

Of course, if you desire to work through the physical/3D world/matter, those things you can logically track and measure, you can. But the truth is that you access more infinite power to shift your body and whole life when you begin to tune into E-N-E-R-G-Y, the subtle, immaterial, and invisible, the spirit that lies beneath the surface, like blessing your food and directing it to travel to the parts of your body you’d like for it to energize or nourish, to make more shapely or healthy. Also, getting into energy work and metaphysics, the essences of your chi, makes you prettier like a beauty ritual, more naturally attractive, magnetic, and wiser. I can’t wait to finalize this chapter and share a snippet here. Yum!—India Ame’ye

[thedeviltohisangel]

Angry Confession #8 for John and Cas

ANGRY CONFESSION BLURB PROMPT ERA

8. “Tell me how I’m supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me.”

a little tease of the wisconsin fight i have been screaming in DMs with @gloryofroses19 about...

also. this might get it's own multi-page interlude and read slightly different. cass might get on that forced march and it won't read exactly like the blurbs. my muses have a mind of their own and i don't try to reel them in. if you ever have a question or wonder how i might see something differently with hindsight, please always reach out!

AND. writing this broke me.

The silence was deafening as Cass felt his words snap across her face. She almost wishes the pain was physical instead of the emotional torment that he was inflicting upon her. At least then she would know how to heal. She would know how to proceed. At least then she could find the courage to fight back and gain control of whatever storm was brewing between them.

"All I know, Cass, is that I want you to be happy. I want you to be free and safe and experience everything life has to offer. I'm not the right person to ensure that for you anymore. I'm not the right person to live life with you anymore. I'm not the right person to," he paused and choked on the words that were tumbling out, "bring home to South Carolina and...you deserve a better man to have children with."

"Don't you dare," she practically spat as she pushed off the wall and took an angry step towards him. "Don't you dare fucking say any of that, John." The letter that caused all of this was still clutched in his hands. She wanted to burn it. She wanted to go back in time and never write it.

"Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me that you haven't noticed how fucked in the head I am. That you haven't stopped sleeping because you're afraid of what I've become at night." His eyes were looking at her wrist. Imagining the way his hands had wrapped around her delicate skin with malice as his nightmares had blurred his capacity to distinguish the past from the present.

"I love you. I love you so much it hurts me and that is the only thing I have been certain of for a very long time." Her fingers wrapped around the footboard of the bed in his childhood room. There was so much of him ingrained in these walls that it was dizzying. She had been giddy upon their arrival to Wisconsin, anxious to see him reunite with his mother and sisters. Anxious to get him back to his roots in the hopes it would heal the uncertainty that had settled over him since the morning after Gale's wedding. "You are exactly the man I want to bring home to South Carolina. Exactly the father I want to give my children. Exactly the person I want to experience everything in life with. All the pain and all the happiness. None of it means anything without you." She took another step but he stood and she paused.

"I'm setting you free. Free from me and this marriage and all the memories of what happened over there that I keep drudging up for you."

"I don't want that," she cried. "I am not asking for any of that!"

"Someone is going to make you so happy one day." His hands were shaking and he knew he needed to leave this house before he could let the tears in his eyes fall. "Someone who doesn't have demons in their head. Someone who doesn't have blood on their hands and doesn't have to worry about staining you when he holds you."

“Tell me how I’m supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me," she yelled as she found the courage to hit him in the chest. "Tell me how you expect me to move on from our nights in the flower field and how I am supposed to pretend that London meant nothing to me and tuck away everything that happened in Germany into a box. No one else will ever understand me, John. No one is ever going to make me feel a pin prick of what you do." She beat her palms against his chest until all the anger left her chest and she collapsed as it was replaced by despair. He let a tear drop onto the carpet next to her.

"I love you, Sp-" He stopped as the term of endearment tried to slip out. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. John stepped past her and stood in the doorway, not flinching when he saw his sisters scurry into their rooms. "One day, when you hold your precious child and don't see any of me inside of them, you'll know we are doing the right thing. And I just know you are going to be the best fucking mother in the entire world." Oh how he had dreamed of watching her become a mother. Watching her with their baby. Their baby that looked like a perfect combination of the two of them and was a physical embodiment of the love they had for each other. How he had spent the sleepless nights in Germany thinking of their names and how they would feel on his tongue. Cass was, is, a deity. She would be raising angels in her image and he couldn't not taint them with the horrors that lived inside of him. Couldn't risk any of it seeping into them.

"It won't be worth it without you," she mumbled as she stared where he had been in shock. "Life without you won't be worth living." If he stayed any longer, he'd never be able to leave.

So, without a glance back, he stepped out of the room. And down the stairs.

And into the night.

[kinlochs]

anyways here's wonderwall (2024 farewell post of cool people,)

SINCE i must return to despair at work tonight at an unreasonable time of the night once again (#airport problems) i figured id make a little appreciation most for super cool people on here! some of you haven't written with me yet but you have sick vibes and i love ur content so i will admire from afar....... im just obnoxiously happy that the da rp scene came back with a vengeance on here. it's so fun to write. it's my favorite. and it's full of great people!!!!!!

@sorrowsick bane of my existence. eternally damned to torture one another. SUPER creative and can bang out awesome plots and ocs like literally no one else!!!!

@miidnighters we've been hanging out for a while and i still can't get over how well put together your ocs are! you're so passionate about them and it makes me so soft inside!!!

@weishaupts i LOVE athera she is the loml. iconic. JUST like you. i can't believe we've managed to follow each other around on all of these different dragon age blogs this entire time,

@ofthewildes / @hallamshivanas / @7thtalon don't know how mel hasn't thrown me off of a mountain yet for our shenanigans. i cannot stress how beautiful and vivid your writing is alongside the dedication you have to your muses! it's so easy to see how much you care for them and im always smashing that like button for all of ur posts

@geracht / @gwuein high key i had never given much consideration to rowan, maric or loghain before you began talking about them, and now i'm emotionally invested and im going to kill you. not to mention how you write anders! you know him inside and out and it's amazing!

@grtivas i don't believe we've written together yet but i saw u from across the dash and i really liked ur vibe..... also im high key reading all of the crow threads like a novella. AND cackling at your follies with origins

@dcvium NIMUE.......im holding her face between my hands and squishing it!!!!! she deserves happiness. cassian is still nervous about her whole Thing but im SURE theyll work it out eventually

@cuerrvox merrill is so close to my heart it simply makes me happy to see your blog pop up on my dash whether it's ic or ooc content!!!!!

@prophetries giving me all of the religious angst im craving/clashing ideologies/slowest slow burn in existence...........im in love with evelyn

@archonoclasm WONDERFUL portrayal of dorian every time i catch wind of one of your threads i feel like dorian just started yelling at me from my screen???

@inevestigator i ALSO have to give kudos to you! you bring neve to life and i always thought she was a difficult character to nail on the head when it comes to portrayal because of how subtle her nuances are!

@tideveil alys my beloved.......... im such a sucker for multi warden scenarios. im glad that they have each other throughout it all. it's heartbreaking to see them lean on one another through such a difficult timeline

@wayan9an once again i am reading every lore drop like a book. you put so much work into your muses it's so inspiring. the attention to detail is crazy.

these are but a small small small sample of everyone i appreciate on the dash and if i didn't mention you outright PLEASE know that i am so grateful for you and your company. hopefully in the new year we'll have twice the fun!!!!!!